Let the Dream Descend
by MrsMargeryLovett
Summary: For a year, Christine has been hidden from her world, learning to live in Erik's. Follow them as they learn how to cope in the aftermath of the abduction, as well as the duration of it. Modern day, mostly Leroux/ Kay based
1. Chapter 1

**Hey guys! I just want to explain a few things before we get into this fan fiction- well, I'm hoping there's a we, hopefully I'm not just writing this to a crowd of 0. I see a lot of modern day stories based around PotO and you know what? I'm hooked on them, they're always brilliant to read and some of my favourite fan fictions are modern day. But I was reading a few and I noticed you don't really get to see the aftermath much, or at least one where Christine hasn't fallen hopelessly in love, so I just wanted to mix things up.**

**The chapters will get a bit weird when it comes to chronological order, I'll be telling the story both from the point of view of after and during the kidnapping, so if you're ever confused please just ask some questions. Heck, any review's great even if it's just confusion!**

**Hope you enjoy!**

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The interrogation room was empty for the time being, while there seemed to be all too many people in Christine's opinion watching from behind the one way mirror. She remained at the back of the room, her knees shaking with fear as her hands fiddled with the hem of her shirt. At that moment she felt quite alone in the world despite the presence of the counsellor that the police department had put her in custody of, Nadir Kahn. He seemed a kindly enough man with warm eyes and a gentle voice, but Christine was in no position to place her trust in him quite yet.

The room went quiet when two men entered the interrogation room, one an officer while the other was simply what was left of a man. Christine stiffened slightly as she watched what was happening from behind several men. She felt Nadir's hand put itself firmly yet kindly on her shoulder, and it was at this point she realised how violently she had indeed been shaking from fear. She looked up towards him with wide eyes and a slack jaw, looking for words to say.

"They can't make you go in," Nadir said reassuringly, smiling. "Not if you don't want to."

"I want to," Christine replied quickly. "Will everyone be watching?"

"I'm afraid so. It's for your protection, though."

"He won't hurt me," Christine said quietly, bowing her head. "He'd never hurt me if he could help it."

"I know, Christine. But they don't."

Christine smiled weakly and shook her head.

"You don't know." Nadir did not reply to this, instead giving her shoulder a small squeeze before letting his arm fall limp beside him. There were a few murmurs amongst the men in the room as they watched the interrogation taking place.

The officer seemed too animated in Christine's opinion as he spoke, obviously gaining no reply. Despite any training in violence or resistance that he may of received, it seemed the man had no training when it came to complete and utter ignorance of his existence. Christine was brought out of her moment of dazed unawareness by a loud screech of the officer's chair being pulled back as he stormed from the room, pinching the bridge of his nose. He entered the hidden room and flung his hands in defeat.

"He won't say a word, not a single fucking word."

"Well shouting at him wasn't gonna do anything," one of the detectives pointed out, snickering. "You might wanna try and use a different tactic next time."

"Like hell I am! I'm not going back in there, that guy's a complete freak!"

They were all quiet for a few minutes, some staring at the floor as if in thought while others could not help but be curious and look through the mirror at the man they had caught. Christine did neither, instead closing her eyes and taking a few moments to breath deeply, gathering her wits until she could stop herself from shaking. She looked towards Nadir and placed a hand on his arm, smiling as bravely as she could.

"I think I'm ready," she said, catching the attention of most in the room. "Can I go in?"

"Sure thing, darling," the detective who had previously spoken said, extending a hand towards her. He tried so hard to seem kind, Christine thought to herself, but it really did not help. She didn't want pity or sympathy. "Do you want someone in there with you?"

Christine shook her head emphatically, following him across the room though refusing to touch the offered hand.

"We're right here in case anything happens. If he says anything to upset you, anything at all, you're free to come back in, the door's going to be unlocked. If he does anything, we'll send someone in straight away. Okay?"

Swallowing thickly, Christine nodded. How she wished they would all just leave her alone in peace for a bit while they spoke, but she knew that wasn't how it worked back here. _Back here_. As if she had been living on a different planet for the past year. The detective opened the door and allowed her in, the door closing not too long after she stepped into the interrogation room. It was bright, to say the least. Plain, clean, and bright. Awfully bright.

She moved slowly towards the table, though could see that she was being ignored quite pointedly. She cleared her throat, and still without a response she repeated the action. No response.

"Erik?" Christine finally asked, at the table now but without the heart to sit. As if she expected to be offered the seat, or at least be given permission to sit. "Erik, will you speak to me?"

As in response, Erik sunk his head into his arms, childishly shielding himself from her gaze. Oh, yes, Christine had seen that face, and he had allowed her to freely look upon it when she so decided. But there were those strangers about, watching their meeting as if they were animals in a zoo. To be caged was one thing, but Christine knew that Erik would never abide by this voyeurism without a struggle. They had stripped him of his mask and had disallowed him from wearing it again.

"You don't have to look at me then," she whispered, smiling weakly. "I understand. But please talk. That's why I came."

She was still returned with silence, and to occupy the time Christine took hold of the chair the officer had taken out his abuse on and pulled it to the table, sitting tentatively as if it were an action to be frowned upon. The man before her had not moved an inch, and if she could not hear the slow, rhythmic sound of his breath Christine would have been sure he had died. She searched through her mind for something to say, any topic that would stir him, but found nothing.

"You know, they won't stop calling me darling and sweetheart," Christine said as conversationally as she could, no longer caring that they could hear every word that was said. "I haven't been called sweetheart since I was six."

Silence.

"They're nice, though. I guess. I got a counsellor for some reason. Just in case, I guess."

Silence.

Christine clenched fists tightly as she thought of what else there was to say. Of course there were a thousand things she wanted to say. Deep inside she knew all she wanted to do was scream at this man, the man who had taken away so much of her, and yet had given so much in return. Whatever she had received, though, could not quell her anger. But he was damaged. Far beyond the reaches that she could see, deep in his very being, he was damaged in a way that Christine was never able to fix. The very last thing she wanted to do was break whatever was left him, however tempting it was.

"I'm not going to say it was a regular kidnapping," Christine began slowly, clasping her hands and gripping until her knuckles went white. "They want to know what I'm going to say at the trial, and… I'm not going to say it was evil or anything. It wasn't."

There was something in the rise of Erik's shoulders that told Christine she was in fact being heard, though he did not wish to respond at that moment.

"I'm going to say you're insane," she spat out, closing her eyes tightly as if she were awaiting a blow. "It's the only explanation, right? You're mad- you can't help it, you didn't know what you were doing. I've seen you, I know you, and I know you've been struggling with something, whatever it is. But you're not in your right of mind, Erik…"

She trailed off, realising that slowly, as she had been speaking, Erik had stretched out a hand and laid his fingers gently on her clasped hands. Christine sniffed at the sight, sure she would cry if she did not ignore the touch. She had been so used to gloved fingertips that even now the bare flesh was something to be appreciated. Trembling slightly, but determined, Christine looked up into Erik's eyes which were now revealed to her, though he kept his head turned and hand propped up in a way that concealed as much of his face as he could from the mirror.

"I'm not mad," he choked out, the first words he had said in what could possibly have been days. "At least, not in the way you think I am. And you know it."

"I know that there is something wrong with you that I only made worse," Christine said lowly, as if there was a possibility they wouldn't hear her. "I also know that there are places that can help, and fighting it out with thugs and evil, evil men in prison won't help at all."

"And you would gladly label me a madman to the world instead?" Erik asked seriously. Too serious. Christine knew that tone and her blood ran cold remembering it. Slowly, though, she nodded. There were men ready to help if Erik did lash out. Indeed, the touch on her hands went deeper, as if he were repressing his rage.

"Don't you dare try and make me seem like the bad guy here," Christine warned with a shaking voice. "I haven't said a single thing about you to them, I swear. And I never will. I'm still wearing your ring, you know? They think _I'm_ the mad one for doing it, like I'm going through some sort of Stockholm Syndrome. I'm willing to risk that. All I ask of you is to do something for _me_. For your own good."

Erik prised open Christine's left hand, turning it over in his own and smiling slightly.

"You are still wearing it," he said. Though he smiled, his tone was still serious, lulling her into a false sense of security. "Why would you do that?"

"Because I want to," Christine replied. "Because I want everyone to see what's happened. I want everyone to know that I will still allow myself to be married to you." She paused for a moment and then closed her eyes, stealing her hand back. "I don't know if they knew that bit," she whispered, lowering her head. "Dear God, Erik, I really am mad, aren't I?"

She noticed that her hands were trembling as she raised them to her face, biting down hard on her lip to stop the singular sob that wished to echo through the room.

"Madness is only another boundary to be broken."

"That's easy for you to say," Christine murmured from behind her hands, letting them simply hover over her face now. "You don't live here, do you? You live in a completely different world, one where men wear masks and opera is the highest form of art. God, you live in a world where _art_ exists, where you can be swayed by music and imagery that we don't have anymore! You don't have to live in this world. Look at you! You've lived so long confined in a waistcoat you don't look _normal_… oh, you know what I mean!" she added when she saw the glare that she was given.

"You belong to that world too," Erik said. Very matter of fact. "You are a creature of emotion, of feeling, Christine. And because of that… yes, you belong in that world."

At this Christine stood and stumbled backwards, away from the chair, away from the table, and away from Erik. The very words scared her, as if they were magic and threatened to do something hideous to her. Erik only looked at her with curiosity, nothing out of the ordinary. Christine knew then that Erik had intended this fear. He knew her far too well, and knew how to pull a reaction from her without her consent. She clutched at her throat, feeling ready to vomit at any moment, her eyes never leaving Erik's for a moment.

"You don't know anything," she hissed, pointing an accusing finger towards him. "You don't know a single fucking thing about me!"

"It's been too long for you to hold up that pretence, Christine," Erik said, that angry tone still in his voice, only serving to infuriate her more.

"Why must you always be so angry with me?" she asked, feeling her eyes tearing up. "You say such horrible things and when I fight back, you get angry, as if I'm not meant to fight back! I won't be spoken to like that, not anymore Erik!"

"You don't have a choice in the matter, Christine."

"Yes, I do, Erik. Because I can leave, I could leave you right now."

"If you could leave me right now," Erik said sternly, "then you already would have done so. The door has been there this entire time and I am quite sure I have infuriated you already on several counts. And yet you are still here."

Christine opened her mouth to speak but could not say anything. She placed a hand to her lips, feeling them tremble, feeling her hands shake, thinking desperately of anything to say. _Anything_. Dear God, how he infuriated her.

"Why are you here?" Erik asked quietly, his tone relenting back to his childish instincts, pleading with her. "To torture me by calling me mad? Or to flaunt yourself as a good little wife? You confess you will remain married to me, but you find yourself furious when I state your devotion."

"Stop talking, please," Christine whispered, bringing her hands again towards her face but half heartedly leaving them a good distance away from her, afraid to feel her emotions beneath her own fingertips. "Please, stop talking, please, please…"

"Or is it for them? To show that you really are part of this world still, to pretend that you haven't changed? You always said you wouldn't give in and I suppose you really haven't, at no matter what the cost. Oh, I saw it Christine, I know you gave in, I know that you came to leave this world behind, I know that you were willing to accept _everything,_ even if it was only for a brief moment."

"Stop talking, please, stop talking, stop talking, please…"

"If you truly wanted to rebel you would not have come here today, or you would have exerted more control. If you hadn't given in you would either already be home or it would be you standing here while I cowered in the corner like a child. Christine, don't snivel like that, you have what you've always wanted, don't you? Despite everything, despite all that you've said, this was secretly what you always wanted, to be found and rescued, for me to be locked away?"

"Please, please, stop, please stop talking, stop…"

"Look at me, Christine!" Erik yelled as he gripped her wrists, hoisting them up and forcing her to look at him through her tears. The officers seemed to have waited until the very last moment as those fingers gripped tightly enough to leave deep, purple bruises before they finally charged into the room, two of the men pulling Erik back. He seemed to growl like a feral beast as they did so, but Christine did not notice. She felt Nadir's warm, safe embrace pull her back to her feet- she had not realised she had sunk to the floor weeping- and half drag, half carry her away from the room.

"Ssh, ssh now, you've done so well, you've been very brave," Nadir whispered into her ear, stroking her hair. Christine only sobbed louder, feeling as if she had her father back from the grave only to comfort her. She gripped Nadir's shirt tightly and cried into his shoulder, allowing him to whisper generic comforts to her. "Let it out, love, it's been a long day. You really have been so very brave."

Christine shook her head furiously, wrapping her arms around Nadir's chest and pulling him tightly to her- or at least as tightly as she could in her state. He tried to quieten her again but she only shook her head over and over.

"I'm not brave," she sobbed, finally summoning the strength to create words through her tears. "I'm not brave at all."


	2. Chapter 2

**I just wanted to thank everyone who's reviewed so far for the first chapter, usually my stories don't gain interest so it's really nice to see people are noticing this one :D**

**I do hope you continue enjoying! x**

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If there was one thing Christine had expected to be overrated from the very beginning, it was the prom. Not that she would have missed it for the world, of course. Mama Valerius was so determined that Christine would go, be the _belle of the ball_, that she didn't have the heart to miss it. After letting the girl into her home, it was the least Christine could do in return.

Despite the lacklustre way in which she anticipated the prom itself, Christine knew that her friend Meg had already intended a very elusive after party and had begun to look forward to it with far more excitement than most of her friends. It had already been planned out with intricate detail on Meg's part; she, Christine, Jammes and Carla, the last of whom was reluctantly invited due to her very _intimate_ connection with Piangi, the Italian student who Meg had taken quite a liking to after he allowed her to peer over his shoulder during foreign languages. Few other boys had taken her interest in such a friendly way, but Meg saw it only fit to invite at least three more- "You can't have a party without _boys_!"- she deemed worthy of their attention.

Christine was clearing out her locker on the last day of the school year when Meg skipped up, delightedly holding out a slip of paper.

"Guest list!" she sang out. "We have a guest list!"

"It's always exactly the same people, Meg," Christine laughed, leaning against the now empty locker. "Carla always knows that she's invited wherever Piangi goes, Jack, Jammes and Paul never fail to turn up and Malachi promised he'd come after missing the last do."

"You have way too much time on your hands if you can reel that off," Meg said, yawning theatrically. "Yes. They're on the list. But we have a _guest_! And you're gonna be so proud of me," she added, singing this excitedly.

"Fine. Who's our guest?"

"It's an _older boy_."

"Okay…"

"An older boy of _interest_."

"Meg, where are you going with this?"

"Christine, you know very well where I'm going with this!"

She swallowed, suddenly blushing.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Phillipe, Christine! It's Phillipe, I got talking to him in the library and it turns out he's leaving next year, he got bored of the University. So I said I wanted to make sure he wasn't lonely this summer, considering the family's not moving in until at least next year."

"He's leaving?" Christine asked, but caught herself afterwards. Her blush deepened and she tucked her hair behind her ear, ignoring Meg's knowing gaze.

"Yep. So I told him that a few of us would be hanging out after the prom and oddly enough he seemed very interested in joining us."

"You're not planning anything, right?"

"Why would I do that?" Meg exclaimed, shocked. "Just look pretty, okay?"

"Don't I always?"

"Of course, love, of course, you're absolutely gorgeous. Just, you know, be gorgeouser."

Though Christine had rolled her eyes, she hated to admit to herself that she had indeed done her very best to listen to Meg's demands. Christine had never found herself a particularly pretty girl, never having particularly tried to be such. Her hair would most likely have been naturally straight if she hadn't taken efforts to not brush it for weeks on end, and though her skin was clear it was rarely if ever decorated with any powder or blush. Such efforts of plainness, of course, went down the drain upon discovery that she was to meet the famous _Phillipe de Chagny_.

She had never been one for crushes. Of course, like any teenage girl, Christine had felt the pang of heartache before, of rejection. She had, however, found herself susceptible to minor infatuations, one of these being for the young Phillipe de Chagny. He attended classes at the local University and acted as a tester of sorts for the city before his family moved in. He was widely known as one of the more handsome men of his age, which gathered him attention from a variation of young girls in Christine's class. Meg had noticed Christine's affections for the boy and teased her for it on many occasions.

_Dear God_, Christine thought to herself as she looked in the mirror, _she'll definitely tease me tonight_. Her lips had been painted with careful precision and her eyes lined delicately, though not without a few jabs to the eye with the pencil. The tears seemed worth it in the end, though. She leant back in her seat at the dresser, satisfied with the work that had been done.

Mama Valerius clapped in delight when Christine descended the stairs, demanding a twirl and several photos from her.

"Your parents would have been _so_ proud," she said, her eyes tearing up a little as she said this. Christine noticed but did not pursue it, allowing the old woman a moment to gather herself. She did so quickly and smiled brightly again. "Now, how long before your car arrives?"

"You make it sound so posh," Christine sighed, smiling though. "It's just Paul, he just wanted to show off after getting his license."

"Oh, so it's a boy is it? Now, you didn't tell me that!"

"Don't you start getting any ideas! He's just a friend, Mama."

"Well, if you say so," she replied, winking. "Now, you'll be at Meg's tonight."

"Yes, Mama. I'll call you when I leave in the morning."

"You just make sure you do." As she said this, the beeping of a horn was heard outside and Christine smiled, taking the sign. She turned to Mama Valerius and leant down, kissing the woman twice on her cheeks.

"Enjoy the evening without me, if you can," Christine said, smiling brightly. And with that, she skipped from the room and down the driveway, diving into the car without looking back.

"Someone's peppy this evening," Paul noted, smirking. "Missed me?"

"Of course I did," Christine replied, pouting and fluttering her eyelashes. "You missed me, didn't you?"

"I've kept myself occupied," he laughed, turning his attention back to the wheel.

The majority of the evening passed by in a blur of laughter, Meg taking it upon herself to act as commentator for the evening. With a sly nod to Piangi, she did so with a heavily theatrical Italian accent, commenting on dresses as if she were some sort of spokesperson for the fashion world. Little Jammes became the central point of Meg's affections that evening, her dress having surprised the lot of them with its bright colours; the girl was always so shy that a good dose of teasing was required to make her outburst of confidence complete.

By ten o'clock the dancing portion of the evening had begun and Meg had become duly bored of her act, and the rest had become duly bored of the evening. She disappeared for a few minutes before returning, a large smile on her face.

"Phillipe's bringing a car over, apparently he thinks the park's far more exciting at this time of night."

"A midnight stroll in the park," Malachi said, clasping his hands and feigning romance in his eyes. "The moon, the fresh air, the drunkards…"

"The suspicious old man fiddling about on the bench," Jack added with a heartfelt sigh. Meg pushed his shoulder fiercely, causing the two to laugh.

"Just because you two have no sense of adventure. Don't worry, we're in a group, I'm sure your flower'll be intact at the end of the evening."

The boys _ooohed_, teasing Meg's outburst for the next ten minutes or so while Christine, Piangi and Carla took a short stroll to the car park where they waited for Phillipe. Christine looked behind her as they walked, quite sure that Meg would either end up murdering one of the lads or at the very least defeating them in some sort of childish battle.

"Did you want a drink?" Piangi asked, causing Christine to turn her head sharply. He held out a flask towards her.

"You snuck that in?"

"We're all adults here," he shrugged, still holding it out. "If you don't want it…"

"Thanks," she said, taking hold of the flask. She sniffed it cautiously at first- Christine had never been one for a heavy drink- but ignored her first instinct and sipped at it tentatively in any case. _Might as well start now_, she thought to herself. Most evenings that Meg gathered one of these little parties, there ended up being some sort of drunken mischief and for once she would not find herself babysitting a bunch of teenagers.

It did not seem long before a car turned the corner and slowly came towards them, the headlights blinding in the dark night. Meg screeched in delight when she saw the car coming and leapt forward, wrapping her arms around Christine's shoulders.

"Oi, stay right where you are, mister!" she shouted all too loudly while so close to Christine's ear. "We're just sorting out car arrangements!"

"What car arrangements?" Christine asked weakly, rubbing at her ear.

"Well, Paul brought his car, right? Me, Piangi, Carla and Malachi are in there."

"You're a wicked, wicked girl, you know that?"

"Dunno what you're talking about. Your chariot awaits!"

She darted off immediately, snickering to herself as she did so. Christine sighed heavily and looked back towards the car. Meg was such a dear friend, but at times like this she felt as if she could throttle the girl. As she walked towards the car, Christine became more aware of the drink she had taken and the fact that her heels were far taller than she was used to, and she felt it quite a miracle that she managed to find the car at all. Even in the dark Christine could see Jammes and Jack snickering to themselves. Of course, they had left her the passenger seat.

Dazed for a moment, Christine did not notice that Phillipe stared at her as if with concern for a moment before they began to drive. The back seat was silent save for the faint sound of drunken kisses, leaving the atmosphere awkward in the front seats. Christine closed her eyes, willing the faint dizziness in her head to pass.

"You holding up alright there?"

Christine jolted slightly, realising that she had been leaning against the window lazily as if she were falling asleep. She cleared her throat and smoothed her skirt nervously before looking up and smiling weakly.

"Sorry, I'm not much of a drinker… it's kinda taken me by surprise."

"Ah, I get it," he said with a small smile. "How do you manage to be friends with someone like Meg without needing a bit of a drink?"

"I think she'd be quite sad if she weren't the liveliest person in the room."

"Then fortunately for her, you seem to just fall asleep," Phillipe laughed, tapping his hand on the wheel to some imaginary beat. "She is a sweet girl, though."

"I'm lucky to have her as a friend," Christine admitted quietly.

"Definitely. Could you imagine what sort of enemy she'd make?"

Christine snorted at the idea; a violent Meg was certainly never a good Meg to have against you. The conversation became more lax from this point on, moving onto school, favourite lessons, favourite books, music, film, people… Christine was unaware where they were or what they were doing. Just sitting in that car talking for what seemed like forever was enough for her. Eventually the car stopped, though, and they were forced out into the brisk air.

"Freedom!" Meg yelled as she exited Paul's car which had followed close behind. "Dear God, fresh air never felt so good."

"Well maybe if you hadn't brought _five_ people into the car, it wouldn't have been so warm!"

"Oh Christine," Meg said as sincerely as her intoxicated state would allow, "it was absolutely awful. Three gross, sweaty boys, they absolutely reek!"

"You've been drinking, little girl," Phillipe noted, shaking his head, though he did not seem to mind.

"Of course I have! This is the first day of the rest of our lives, Phillipe, next year we shall all be gone to a better place!"

The group left the two cars at the top of the grassy hill that led down to a children's park, the boys not even needing to discuss with each other before they immediately darted off in a sprint down the hill, only Phillipe remaining behind. They yelled at the bottom, daring the girls to do the same and boasting to each other about how they had won the race that had never officially been. By the time the girls had reached the bottom of the hill, the boys had already begun to climb the swing set, their childish nature emphasised by the alcohol. Christine could not help but notice what a perfect gentleman Phillipe seemed in comparison.

Piangi threw his flask again towards Christine from which she took a deep gulp, a sudden warmness flooding through her as she did so. Phillipe pinched the flask from her hands and shook his head, tutting.

"Now now, what are you doing?"

"I'm _drinking_," she said pointedly, trying to grab the flask back. "That's what we do, isn't it?"

"No, that's what adults do," he replied, though he was smirking now. "You're only a kid."

"I very well am not!" Christine yelped, forgetting herself. "I am a grown woman, I'll have you know. I'm _seventeen_."

"Oh, very grown up. I suppose such a grown up wouldn't be up for a game, would she?"

"What kind of game?"

"A game!" Meg cried, having heard the conversation. "Yes, we must all play a game!"

"I can't run!" Carla said pointedly, lifting her foot to observe her shoes. "Don't make me!"

"We'll play hide and seek," Meg declared. "Look, there are plenty of trees, it'll be fun!"

"And Christine's _it_," Phillipe added, poking his tongue out at her when she glared incredulously at him.

Without another word, the group darted off in different directions, disappearing all too quickly into the shadows. Christine looked about her, a mild panic rising in her throat, but it quickly passed as she heard distant giggling beyond the shadows. She was, at least, not alone. She began to count loudly, giving up after reaching thirteen.

"Ready or not, here I come!"

The trees still echoed giggles and mutters, though the darkness made it seem as if the trees themselves were making the sounds. Nonetheless she wandered through them, squinting in the dark to see if she could find anyone. No one seemed to be around, though the noises still continued. Laughter. Speech. Footsteps. Christine walked deeper into the trees, remaining quiet. In her intoxicated mind, she thought to herself that she might spy someone and attack like a wildebeest, staying silent until the last moment. She was no longer scared of the darkness enveloping her, nor was she scared of where she was. At last she had begun to sink into this sense of fun that oozed from the evening.

After a few minutes that passed by like seconds to Christine, she stopped and leant against a tree, childishly giggling to herself as the previously irritating dizziness became amusing to her, something entertaining that needed to be savoured. The cool air kept her conscious, sending a chill through her skin that attempted feebly to battle with the warmth in her blood. The sensations distracted her from the sound of footsteps that had become louder.

"Christine?" It was a distant voice, too distant to belong to the fingertips that gently brushed her own. Christine smiled to herself, her eyes closed. At least Phillipe had found her.

"I thought I was meant to be hunting _you_ down," she murmured, suppressing a giggle. "You're _cheating_, monsieur. Ha! See! I am a woman, what kid do _you _know who's bilin- billing- bilingual! Ha!"

The fingertips moved now, two hands by her neck, the fingers brushing her jaw line. Christine smiled in a state of bliss, though she still would not open her eyes. The drowsiness was beginning to take over now, and to open her eyes would be a death wish at that moment in time. The hands did not move, only gently making contact with her bare skin. Christine moved her arms as if to reach out and grab the figure before her.

"Christine?" It was still distant, but still she did not notice. She sighed contentedly, having found the material of a shirt at last and pulling herself away from the tree, leaning her head against a shoulder.

"I'm right here," she whispered. "I'm not going anywhere, Phillipe."

Her sigh deepened into a relaxed groan of ease as Christine found herself lifted from the floor, cradled in strong arms that enveloped her in warmth. A slow sense of unease found its way into Christine's mind, though it was heavily outweighed by her fatigue. She struggled slightly, murmuring incoherently as if in attempts to be put down. Still her eyes would not open and she could not find it in herself to fight at all. There was little that Christine was aware of in that moment other than the fact that they were indeed moving somewhere and the voice that called her name was growing fainter and fainter with each step.

Finally they stopped and Christine felt herself being lowered, a firm arm still around her shoulders to support her. Indeed, she felt ready to keel over at any moment. A car door was being opened and she felt herself being lowered into the seat, someone gently pushing her feet in after her. Though her eyes screamed in protest to be put through such torture, Christine turned her head towards the doorway and opened her eyes ever so slightly, squinting at the figure. She saw no detail, only a faint silhouette, but it was far grander than any that she had seen that evening.

"You're not Phillipe," she murmured lazily as the car door was closed on her, and with that the world faded to black as she slumped in her seat and fell asleep.


	3. Chapter 3

The first thing that Christine noted when she regained consciousness again was the pain that pounded in her head, the aftermath of the evening before. She groaned, curling into a tightly knit ball and clutching at her pillow, clenching her teeth. Though she knew it was more beneficial to at that moment find some water, Christine found she only had the energy to lay there in silence for a short while, breathing deeply.

As the pain eased away, Christine felt the ease and comfort sink in to a point where she loosened her position, stretching out her arms in a momentary state of bliss. In the midst of the action, though, she froze. There was almost _too_ much room. Her eyes flew open and her breath caught in her throat as she took note of every detail she could. A large bed, far larger than any Christine had ever slept in, a canopy overhead. The room was dim with only a single candle on the bedside table lighting the room. Christine turned her head and saw a set of heavy curtains against the wall adjacent to her. She jumped from the bed, ignoring the returning headache, and ran to the curtains, ripping them apart in a swift motion.

Even in her moment of fear, Christine could not help but stop still at the sight of the garden ahead of her. She could not tell if she was facing the front or rear of the house she was in as there was nothing but greenery as far as the eye could see; trees, bushes, flower beds, and far beyond those were just fields stretching to the horizon. The awe did not last though as the true scale of those fields began to sink in. _Where am I?_ Christine looked down and saw that she must have been on the second floor up, not too far in her opinion considering there was a ledge under the window if she needed somewhere to jump from. She began fiddling with the latch on the window but found it tightly shut, as strong as if it had been soldered shut. In a blind panic she began to bang on the window, as if trying to break the glass.

A small stirring amongst the bushes down below made Christine stop and it was here that she realised that she had been watched for most of her time at the window. There was a man- well, really, he seemed to be more of a _boy_- tending to the gardens and the noises had caught his attention. Christine found her hands shaking as she tapped on the window, nervously muttering to herself. The young man paused for only a moment before he dropped the trowel he had been using and made his way towards the house, head bowed low. The disappearance of this man caused Christine's panic to rise again and she could feel her breath catching in her throat. She clutched desperately at her neck as if she could force herself to breath again, but it would not work. Slowly she sank to the floor, closing her eyes and sucking in deep bouts of air, steadying herself.

When she opened her eyes again, Christine took a moment to look about the room that she had found herself in. It was quite beautiful, in a very old fashioned manner. The large, four poster bed made of some sort of expensive wood, the delicately crafted furniture… she would have thought she'd woken in another time if it had not been for her reassurance to herself that it was an absurd idea. It was at this point she finally noticed that she was still in her dress from the evening before. It must only have been a handful of hours ago that she had been surrounded by her friends, laughing just like any of the rest of them…

The thought broke Christine's hardened barrier and she sunk her face into her hands, snivelling like a child. She felt ready to claw out her hair as the tension of the moment built inside of her. When she released her face she uttered a shuddering sigh and clutched her elbows tightly, feeling prepared to sink into the floor and never return.

The door was a heavy but quiet one, and Christine barely noticed it open. A moment passed before she turned her head towards the doorway and upon seeing the figure there she flinched violently, uttering a sharp shriek of terror as she clumsily crawled backwards into the corner.

"Don't hurt me!" she shrieked, wrapping her arms around her body tightly. "Please, don't hurt me!"

Though her memories of the previous evening were hazy for the most part, the image of the silhouette she had faced moments before sleeping was an image that remained heavily imprinted in her mind. There was no doubt in her mind at this moment that the silhouette had belonged to this man who stood watching her carefully. It was not the boy she had seen in the garden, seeming somewhat older and more refined. He was an imposing figure, to say the least, tall with strong, broad shoulders. Had her fear not been an overwhelming emotion at that point, Christine might have appreciated such a strong figure. But it was not this that she noted first and foremost. It was the black mask that covered half of his face, finishing short of his lips and leaving only his lower face exposed.

Christine flinched again as the man began to move. His movements were almost _too_ graceful for a man of his stature, his steps slow and confident, his eyes never leaving her face. He stopped short of the edge of the bed, placing a hand on one of the pillars of the bed. The silence in the room was almost painful to hear and without any disturbances in the rest of the house, there was nothing for Christine to concentrate on. Not a single sound could be heard and she was sure she would be driven mad by it.

"I'm not going to hurt you."

Even had the room not been incredibly silent, the sound of his voice still would have made Christine whimper with a short thrill of fear running down her spine. She'd never heard such a voice before, a deep masculine tone that commanded respect even in the smallest words. She stiffened slightly, looking the man in the eyes- those eyes! It was as if they glowed from behind that dark mask, a deep golden colour that seemed more befitting a cat than a man.

"Please don't hurt me," Christine repeated, whispering the words.

"I'm not going to hurt you."

"Where are we?" The man was silent, his attention still directed towards the cowering girl on the floor. She was emboldened slightly by the silence, irritation rising. When she spoke again, she spoke louder, trying to control the quiver in her tone. "Where are we? And who are _you_? Please, where are we?"

"I hope you will find everything to your liking," the man began, still unblinking and undeterred by Christine's state. "You'll find more clothing ready for you in the dresser over there. You need only ask for anything you might need that you cannot find here."

"Are you going to kill me? Rape me? Tell me!"

"You do not need to fear me," the man said. He paused, allowing Christine to gain a sense of his desperation evident in his voice. "I have no intentions of harming you."

"Why am I here if you won't kill me? Please, I just want to know, whatever you're going to do to me I just want to-"

"Enough!" It was not said with any sort of passion, but the volume with which it was said caused Christine to finally break her gaze with the man and duck her head downwards. The room was silent once more apart from the quiet muffled sobs that Christine tried to repress.

"I want to go home," she sniffed between sobs. "What am I meant to _do_ here?"

The man did not reply, only watching her as she cried for some minutes afterwards. Christine did not take anymore notice of him for the time being. She knew that she would not receive any answers and could not bring herself to ask the questions that she wanted to ask. It took a while before her sense of dignity and pride surfaced, forcing her to hold her breath until she stopped sobbing. Though she had forced herself to stop weeping pitifully, Christine could not bring herself to look up and only remained sitting there with her arms wrapped tightly around her torso.

"It is neither my intention to hurt nor molest you, Christine," the man began again when Christine had found her breath again. "I only ask that you remember that of me."

"Who are you?" Christine asked weakly, surprised to hear her voice so quiet and hoarse. She cursed herself for sounding so weak and vulnerable while she spoke to this man, her abductor. The man moved as if to come nearer, but thought better of it, instead shifting his weight awkwardly.

"My name is Erik Destler," he said at last.

"Erik… I don't know any Erik."

"Oh, you don't know me, Christine. But I know you."

At this Christine released a shuddering sigh, feeling herself weakening both physically and mentally more and more by the second. _He's been watching me, then_.

"For how long?"

"Long enough, my dear."

"Why am I here?"

Erik paused, the silence forcing Christine to lift her eyes. She looked at that towering figure through the strands of hair that now shielded her face somewhat, feeling ever so slightly safer with that barrier between them. It was as if she could fool herself that while he was only somewhat in her sight, she was only somewhat there. Somehow, she was protected. Of course, deep down she knew it was a lie, but she did not care. Anything to make that silence more bearable, even an insane lie, was all that she needed.

"You are here… because you _belong_ here."

Christine could hear the soft sound of his leather clad hand leave the wood of the bed, a single soft footstep following it.

"Out there is a world that would gladly _ruin_ you, lay waste to you without a second thought."

There was another footstep, and then another. Erik's face disappeared from Christine's sight as he slowly came closer. She closed her eyes tightly as if she could make him disappear, like some sort of childish game. _You can't see me if I can't see you_. _You don't exist_.

"You are here because the world will never, _never_, need you as much as I need you, Christine."

He was there now, only a few feet away from her, but already he was ready to fall to his knees for her.

"Because I do need you here, Christine."

Christine could feel his fingertips at her temples and flinched as the touch ran deeper, her hair invaded by his touch and her skin freezing at the mere idea of him. She opened her mouth to protest but no words came out.

"I _love_ you, Christine."

Somewhere deep down Christine knew that this was an answer she would come to expect, though she had passed it off as a vain thought. It was horribly vain to think that this man, this strange man, would go to such lengths to possess her for no other reason than to _love_ her. Yet he had said it. Whether or not he meant it was something that Christine could not bear to think of. In a moment of passion that led to a sudden increase in strength, Christine brought her trembling hands to the man's wrists and flung them away from her, scrambling to her feet and looking down at the figure that knelt by her feet.

"You're a sick, sick man!" she cried with a tremble still in her voice. Her sensible thoughts screamed at her to be quiet; to antagonise him might lead to tortures worse than she could imagine, but to be silent felt like a sign of surrender. "Please, I just want to go home, I won't tell anyone, I promise! Just take me home, please…"

"This is your home now," Erik said as he rose to his feet, all too close in Christine's opinion, and all too calm. Even his gaze seemed too nonchalant.

"Please take me back, please? I'll do anything you want, I'll let _you_ do whatever you want, I won't put up a fight at all if you promise to take me back!"

Before Christine could flinch away, her wrists were taken in a tight hold, fingers gripping tightly into her skin as if at any moment they could mould into the flesh. Erik's eyes seemed to be blazing and Christine could not help but look away, whimpering and struggling feebly against his grasp. She did not cry out in pain or fear though it was the surprise that silenced her rather than any brave bravado.

"I will not have you belittle me like that," he said with a quivering anger in his voice. "I have sworn to you not to… to _touch_ you, and have promised not to harm you."

"You're hurting me now," Christine whispered, still refusing to look at him.

Erik's grip did not release for some time, but the fire in his eyes died out over the course of the next minute after which he softened, finally releasing her. Christine sank to the floor once more, rubbing at her arms as a sudden chill ran through her body, making her blood run cold. She refused to look up from the floor, concentrating solely on steadying her breathing. Footsteps became slightly quieter as Erik backed away from the child before him and made his way towards the door.

"The time will come when you trust in the knowledge that I would never willingly harm you," Erik began slowly, though even he now could not hope to reach Christine's gaze and his head was bowed low. "Until then I will… leave you to think."

The door softly clicked as it was closed and after a very short click Christine thought she heard the turning of a lock. _Trapped. _She wrapped a hand around her throat and massaged lightly, the screams and cries having taken their toll on her. Christine had no idea how long she had been sitting on that floor in that position, waiting for her body to relax after the exhaustion of the previous hours, but she found that she did not care.

The light that had flooded the room once the curtains had been opened began to dim, turning the walls orange as they were bathed in the light of the sunset. Christine found she did not have the energy nor the heart to stand and make her way to the bed, instead deciding to rest her head against the wall and close her eyes, allowing the comfort of unconsciousness to envelope her.


	4. Chapter 4

**Just a warning for this chapter, and maybe a few in the future… I'm a teenage fan fiction writer, not a lawyer, so I'm really just going out on a limb here and saying that some stuff miiiiiiiiiiiiiiiight not be accurate to how these things are handled in real life. But I'll have you know a bit of research has been done so hopefully no one here's really neurotic about details.**

**Not of course that I expect people who, like myself, have fallen in love with a fictional deformed man who kills people, to be extremely neurotic about the legal system but hey, I just like to double check :D**

**Thank you so much guys for the reviews and everything, hope you enjoy!**

The court house was certainly not what Christine had expected. Considering the dramatic nature of her case, she had not expected a building so… bland. The corridor that she sat in was like an old school's corridor with shiny peach linoleum floors and bright white walls. It all seemed so clean, _too_ clean, the scent of bleach evident in the air. Even the bright orange seats were practically blinding, the fluorescent lights emphasising their shine. She sat in one of those bright seats, Nadir sitting on one side of her while Mama Valerius patted at her hair, still teary eyed.

It had been a strange reunion, to say the least. Christine had been left in the police department's waiting room while Mama Valerius was given a brief outline of the situation and Christine's state of health. When she had finally been allowed in the woman could barely contain herself, half crying, half laughing, as she heavily sat by Christine's side, wrapping her arms around the young girl and holding her tightly as if she might disappear again at any moment. Though Christine was overjoyed to see her guardian again, she could not bring herself to move, only burying her face into the woman's shoulder and accepting the embrace and remaining silent as her Mama cried over and over how much she had been missed.

Even now, four days later, Christine found herself being fussed over like a child. She was under constant supervision, either by Mama Valerius while they came to and from the hotel to the police department for more questioning, or by Nadir for the moments in between where Christine simply needed to walk off the feeling of the day. Though the constant supervision was somewhat disturbing, Christine could not deny that she accepted Nadir's company quite gladly. He never once asked about the abduction, nor did he ever ask about any time after she had been found. Instead the questions were kept strictly to the past and friends that she waited to see.

It was the idea of once again meeting her friends that gave Christine something to think about while she awaited the trial. Now that it was summer she was sure that they had all come home again from wherever they had disappeared to, and with the news that Christine had been found safe and sound she was sure that they would be waiting for her eagerly. Though it pained her to admit it, Christine had all but forgotten what dear Meg looked like, what she sounded like, what she would say in this very situation. Perhaps a reunion would bring all those memories back to the surface.

"How are you holding in there, sweetheart?" Nadir asked, squeezing her hand reassuringly. She smiled in return, shrugging her shoulders. He had come to use the term _sweetheart_ lately as a way of making her laugh whenever he could after she had confessed the abnormality of the name in the interrogation room. "Don't panic. You're the victim here, they won't grill you or anything."

"I _am_ the victim here. So what do they need me for?"

"Well, all the servants confessed to being there. Erik won't say a word, they want _someone_ to speak for him."

"But I'm not speaking for him," Christine sighed. "I'm speaking against him. There's nothing else I can do but speak against him, I know it was a kidnapping just as well as they do."

"Yes, but after you went on that _insanity_ tirade they want you to go into that a bit more," Nadir said as kindly as he could without upsetting her. "All you have to do is say a few things about that. I'm sure they won't ask for any… details."

"And _I'm_ sure they _will_. That's all anyone's been asking about! They just want all the gory details, want to know what he did to me…"

They went quiet for a short while, though the corridor echoed steps from further down the hallway so loudly that they certainly had no space left in their minds for deep thought. Mama Valerius placed an arm tentatively around the girl's shoulders while Nadir only squeezed her hand again.

"If they ask for any details you don't want to give, just decline," said Nadir. "Okay, so I'm not sure they won't ask. It all depends on who's asking the questions. And anyway, this is far too high profile a case for them to start upsetting you, you could break them just as easily as make them right now."

Christine nodded slowly and allowed herself to sink slightly into Mama Valerius's embrace. She bit her lip in thought before continuing.

"Do you know what he pleaded?" she asked with feigned nonchalance. "I mean, Erik's lawyer I guess, on his behalf. Guilty? Not guilty?"

Nadir smiled slightly, knowing quite well the answer that Christine wanted to hear.

"Insanity."

"Good, good," she murmured, closing her eyes, once again deepening herself into thought. "And what will happen if that works out?"

"I'm not sure. It might depend on what you say, or any tests they've run. There's clinics, or the hospital, I suppose."

With a sigh, Christine shrugged the arm away from her shoulders and stood, stretching out her limbs and fingers. Nadir stood as well, looking at Christine as if waiting for a despairing emotion or broken feature. Instead, she smiled gently, looking towards Nadir with half curious eyes.

"Should we get going? They're gonna want me there soon enough."

"Now, are you sure that you want to go in the box? It's not too late to get a video set up, or a screen, I think."

"No, no, it's alright. I want them to see if the questioning gets too much, I don't want anyone to be able to say I faked it." Nadir nodded, understanding. If there was one thing that was to be said of Christine after this ordeal, it was her determination. The abduction would not get the best of her while she could be seen.

They bid a quick farewell to Mama Valerius, Christine determined that the woman should not see any ill reaction to the proceedings if she were to suffer through such. She and Nadir walked through the hallways until they found a guarded door. Upon recognising the two, the guard nodded towards them and opened the door, allowing them into the small room wherein stood another guard, waiting for them. He too nodded towards them, his silence a sign that he would not disturb them until it was required.

There were no other witnesses in the trial to be summoned and so the waiting room was left entirely to Christine and Nadir. The solitude was comforting and Christine gratefully sank into the softer chairs provided. She was quite sure that under other circumstances she would have fallen asleep, fatigue having built up within her over the days, only nervous energy keeping her conscious. The trial must have already begun, though details of what was to happen were kept quiet despite Christine's constant questioning.

"Coffee?" Nadir asked suddenly, causing Christine to sit slightly straighter. He stood at the opposite end of the room, looking distastefully at the coffee provided. "I can't promise it'll be good but still…"

"I don't drink it," Christine murmured in reply. "Can you sit down? You're making me nervous."

"Sorry." Nadir sat down softly by Christine's side, gripping his cup with no intention of drinking from it. "Do you know what you're going to say?"

"I don't know what they're going to ask me."

"Just think of anything they could ask, I guess. You're gonna be fine."

Christine nodded, though was not comforted by any stretch of the imagination. Though she was certain that her greatest fear should be seeing Erik again, especially in such a state, it was one of the last things on her mind. There was no doubt in her mind that Erik was guilty, mad even, but it was her own state of health that troubled her. What would they see when Christine came to the stand and spoke? A poor but brave young woman or a lunatic pushed over the edge by her ordeal?

She sunk her head into her hands as the thought of lunacy burrowed into her mind. It had always been a fear, even from the very beginning. The fear had grown over the past few days as she found herself wondering about Erik. _Concerned_. The idea made her shudder. How could she be concerned? Back in her own world, it was clear as day that everything that had happened was nothing more than a crime that she was to recover from, and yet the compassion that bloomed from the moment she realised the extent of Erik's madness made Christine protective of the man somewhat. She raised her head and bit her thumb in thought before turning her head slightly towards Nadir.

"Will you be waiting for me afterwards?" she asked, slightly ashamed of her meekness.

"Yes, of course I will."

"You don't want to see the rest of the trial, do you?"

"I'd rather be spared the gory details," he replied. "The verdict will come out sooner or later, there's no harm in waiting till later."

The door to the courtroom opened, and another guard stepped into the room, smiling reassuringly to Christine whose eyes had grown in fear at the sight of the door.

"They're calling you in, sweetheart."

Nadir snorted once, shaking his head, before patting her on the shoulder.

"I'll be waiting for you when you come out," he reminded her as she stood with trembling knees. "You'll be fine."

Christine smiled half heartedly and looked again towards the guard. He did seem friendly enough, and she followed him past the doorway and the few short metres it took to find herself engulfed in the courtroom itself. It seemed to fit her idea of a court far more than the hallways had, and she felt a sense of ease at the sight of the false oak. With the scene as she had imagined it, Christine felt a mild surge of confidence. She was at least somewhat prepared.

The scene was a blur for the short time that it took for her to be led to the witness stand, voices all merging into one until a man spoke to her directly in request of an oath. _I swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth_.

"Now, Miss Daae," the prosecution began, smiling at the girl. He was quickly cut off, though, as the defence stood and held out a piece of paper.

"Mrs Destler, your Honour," he said, though there was a weariness in his tone. Christine wondered what it was like for a brief moment to be assigned a case that was already decided upon, to be there simply to polish the fine details of the outcome. It seemed that after Christine's little confession in the interrogation room, they had searched through the house again for papers and found the marriage certificate, which he held at that moment, though almost apologetically so.

"Christine," the prosecution said after a short pause, still trying quite hard to smile sweetly despite the interruption. "Can you please tell the court who this man is," he said, gesturing towards the defendant's table. Erik was sat there, of course, though Christine hardly needed to look up to be assured in this. She allowed herself a quick glance, though, and saw that he was still in that almost comatose state that she had found him in after his interrogation. A drained man.

"It is Erik Destler," she replied slowly, pronouncing her words almost too carefully.

"Thank you, Christine. Now, would you be able to tell us anything about the night you disappeared? Anything you remember?"

Christine paused, looking towards Erik. He seemed as adamant as before to not return her gaze, still looking towards the table. She swallowed thickly and returned her attention towards the lawyer before her. _Dear God, he's on my side_, she thought. _This man who smiles so kindly and seems so sincere… yet he has no clue._

"It was… it was July. Sometime in July. Prom night, actually, me and some friends were going to… going to the park afterwards to hang out. We drove over and just sort of… yeah, hung out. We decided to play a game or something, hide and seek. But it was… it was late, and I couldn't see anyone so when… Erik found me, I just…"

"Did you know at this time who Erik was?" the lawyer asked, sensing that the story was not to be elaborated on. Christine shook her head.

"No. No, I'd never seen him. I didn't see him until the morning afterwards, actually, in the park I thought he was… someone else. It's why I didn't fight back."

"And did you notice at all while on the drive over whether you were being followed?"

"I was a little out of it by that point," Christine admitted, feeling herself blush. "I didn't think anyone was following me. Like I said, I didn't _know_ Erik, I didn't _know_ I was being watched."

"You say you first saw him the morning afterwards?" She nodded. "Tell me, Christine, was he at all… violent when you first came face to face?"

Christine saw Erik stiffen in his seat, alert again. She looked with wide eyes towards the lawyer, stunned at the question.

"I hardly see what that has to do with it."

"We simply want to get a clear idea of this man's state of mind, Christine," he said slowly, though he could see that he had caused offence and seemed ready to retract the question. Christine bit her lip and placed her hands tentatively on the surface in front of her.

"I really couldn't tell you," she said quietly. It wasn't entirely a lie. She had, after all, promised to keep some secrets.

"You don't remember?"

"No." Again, not _quite_ a lie. She simply didn't want to remember.

"Then perhaps you would remember if he was at all violent towards you at any other point in the relationship?" _Relationship! What a term to use!_

"The court already suspects that he is not in his right of mind."

"You didn't answer my question, Christine."

There was no real point in lying, she supposed. Who would believe her if she said there had been no violence?

"Yes," she said after a pause of thought. She saw that the lawyer was ready to move on and leant forward quickly, her hand shifting forward as if to reach out. "But he didn't mean to," she added quickly, though she knew it sounded mad. "Like I said, he's not in his right mind, and he was always so apologetic, he really didn't mean to."

The lawyer looked at her incredulously for a moment. She had just run to the defence of her kidnapper, and yet seemed so determined to still place him in the wrong. It was a strange case, to say the least, in his opinion, though he did not pursue it. He cleared his throat and paced the floor twice, his footsteps echoing in the now silent courtroom.

"The marriage," he said finally, gesturing vaguely. "Was this a traditional union?"

"In what way?"

"Did this take place in a church? Or a registry office?"

"No, we kind of just… signed the paper."

"And did Mr Destler inform you at any point where he obtained these papers?"

"It hadn't crossed my mind to ask," Christine admitted.

"Was this a forced union?"

"Forced…" Christine trailed off, her hands drawing back towards her and her head bowing. She refused to let her gaze wander back to Erik, knowing that he was looking at her now. She closed her eyes tightly before sighing. "Yes. Yes, it was forced."

"And was the marriage forcefully consummated?"

"Now I hardly see what that has to do with it!" Christine snapped, her blush deepening at the idea of such a matter being discussed in court.

"Christine, it is all in efforts to understand this man. Did he or did he not force himself upon you?"

"It's a sick thing to ask!" Christine firmly said, though she felt herself weaken slightly at the question. It seemed so unfair to be forced to answer. "No. No, he didn't rape me. He was never inappropriate."

"So the marriage was not consummated?"

It was meant less as a question and rather a statement, yet the higher note that finished the sentence created a silence in the room. They waited, and Christine felt all eyes staring at her expectantly. She looked up from her lap with watery eyes and looked towards the lawyer who seemed somewhat dumbfounded. He looked away quickly and cleared his throat, summoning another question to mind.

"Now, the servants of the household have already been taken into custody, I assume you were familiar with all of them?"

"At some point or another. There were only a few."

"And could you name them all for us?"

"Who has been found?"

The lawyer opened his mouth to protest but stopped himself mid breath, retracting himself slightly. Though he wished to protest her unwillingness to answer his question, he did not wish to appear persistent or rude with the girl that all within the jury and spectators felt sympathy for. It wouldn't hurt to fall into young Christine's little tricks. He walked over to his table and retrieved the file that held the names of those who had been arrested and scanned over the sheets briefly.

"The names of the arrested are Mary Lindon, Jennifer Merryforth and Stanley Birch."

Christine nodded slowly, still refusing to look up from her lap.

"Yes. Yes, that's them."

"And you were not in contact with any of these people before your disappearance?"

"No. I'd never seen them in my life."

The lawyer nodded and placed the files gently back on the table, pinching the bridge of his nose as he thought deeply. There seemed to be nothing else he could without incriminating the girl or becoming personal on the issue. Despite the burning curiosity he felt, just as everyone else felt, there was nothing left to do but gesture vaguely in defeat and turn to the judge.

"I have no more questions, your Honour." He nodded and turned towards the defence.

"Have you any questions?"

"No, your Honour." Christine looked up slightly, peering through her hair at the defendant's table. The lawyer's hands seemed to be curled tightly into fists, as if he was restraining himself. Obviously Erik had made it clear that under no circumstances was _she _to be interrogated.

One of the previous guards came to Christine and led her from the room, the trial continuing behind her as she left, as if she had had no impact. Christine had expected to feel a sense of release or tension, either or, as she left the room but found that she could not feel a thing. All she could do was run through her answers over and over again, scanning for anything that might reveal her as mad or at the very least mildly disturbed.

As promised, Nadir waited for her outside the room. Before she knew what she was doing, Christine sniffed loudly and wrapped her arms around the man's torso, turning her head and resting it on his shoulder. She felt somewhat like a child but did not feel an ounce of shame, finding far too much comfort in the hug to let go. Nadir patted her back gently for a few moments before pulling away and cupping Christine's cheeks in his hands, smiling at her reassuringly.

"You did it, and you came out alive."

She laughed despite her initial despair and wiped at her eyes though she knew she had not cried.

"Thanks. Do we- do we have to leave now? I just wanted to stay behind, you know? Just kinda make sure…" She trailed off but Nadir did not question her any further. He nodded and gestured towards some more seats that waited for them in the hallway. Another set of bright orange seats.

It seemed like the day would last forever when she looked at them.

"These seats are absolutely everywhere," Christine sighed as she sank into one of the chairs reluctantly. Nadir looked at her curiously for a moment before she continued. "The police station had the same ones. Even hospitals have the same bright orange things."

"Hospitals?"

"When my parents died," Christine said after a beat of silence, "I had to sit about in the hallways for a while. They didn't let me in."

Nadir was silenced by the very matter of fact manner in which Christine spoke about something so distressing. He was cautious at first to continue the conversation but sensed that Christine waited for him to do so.

"How old were you?"

"Not that young , thirteen I think."

"It's still awfully young."

"I guess. But when you're old enough to understand I suppose you take a different view on it." She was silent again for a moment, lost in thought. To her, Nadir might very well have simply disappeared. He was nothing more in that moment than someone to accept her musings. "Every so often the nurses came through to me just to tell me how things were going. They told me it was going to be fine, but they'd called Mama Valerius just in case. She was a friend of the family, they'd just recently named her as an emergency contact and everything."

Christine fell silent again. She did not speak anymore, only pulling her knees up under her chin and hugging herself tightly, feeling ready to drift off to sleep. She leant her head on Nadir's shoulder and he quickly understood her fatigue.

"Just fall asleep, I'll wake you when they come out if you like."

She nodded lazily, and found herself slowly sinking into unconsciousness despite the discomfort of her surroundings. There was no need to worry, she thought. It would be hours before those doors would be opened again and Nadir had already promised to stay with her. With that in mind, she sighed quietly and fell asleep.


	5. Chapter 5

When she finally woke up, Christine's first instinct was to cry it in pain as she realised how badly her throat burned. It had been almost two days since she'd had a drink of water. She looked around the room desperately and saw on the opposing wall, adjacent to the now locked exit, was a door leading to an en suite. Without a second thought she stumbled across the room, half running and half falling, towards the bathroom and clambered to her feet as she reached the sink. Desperately, Christine stuck her head beneath the taps and drank deeply, letting out a deep groan of relief as the water hit her parched tongue.

After the drink, Christine looked up to the mirror that sat above the sink. Though she could not say she was embarrassed by her reflection, she was most certainly surprised. The tears had left her eyeliner smudged and it ran down her cheeks. In minutes she had herself scrubbed thoroughly and stared back at that same reflection with a far more satisfied feeling. A nervous energy had settled into Christine's veins, making her anxious again and determined to look about. The man- _Erik_- had said that there were clothes for her in the dressers, and she supposed it could not hurt to look. She had been stuck in her dress for nearly two days now and she could not deny she felt horribly disgusting.

As Christine entered the bedroom again, she could not help but look around. It was less out of curiosity and more out of a morbid feeling of dread. She was not familiar with the room yet and had no idea if she was being watched in any way. After scanning the corners of the room for things like cameras or strangely placed mirrors that she may have missed, Christine walked slowly around the room, tracing the spots on the walls she could reach, looking to see if there was some sort of peep hole she should avoid. Strangely, she found nothing, and though still cautious she felt ready enough to change her clothing without worrying about someone watching her.

Though she hated to admit it, the clothes provided really were quite beautiful. For the most part they seemed to be dresses, and though not particularly old fashioned they were somewhat classy. Christine did not want to look at them too much, though, and simply picked the closest, a deep purple dress so light that it seemed to run like water through her fingers. With a sudden sense of morbid curiosity, she looked into the smaller drawers and saw an array of underwear, not much to her surprise but still disgusting her to no end. _God, it's all the right size and everything_. The thought made a lump rise in her throat and for a moment Christine felt quite ready to vomit. She swallowed thickly, though, and shook her head, trying to calm herself.

Despite Christine's assurances that she was not being watched were certain in her own mind, there was something chilling about the room that forced her back into the bathroom with her treasure of clothing and was delighted to find a lock on the door. She had no idea how easily it was broken or whether she was being watched from this room instead, though a small voice inside her head forced her to stop questioning and simply take comfort in that lock. Suddenly feeling quite vile and grubby in her own skin, Christine ran a sink full of warm water and proceeded to scrub her face and shoulders with the wash cloth provided, not daring to trust the shower for the time being.

After what felt like a good hour of scrubbing, cleaning and dressing, Christine felt at least half human again. She could not help but stare at her reflection now, as if expecting something to change. It didn't seem right to still _look_ like Christine, but not _feel_ like Christine. The initial shock of her situation had subsided now and instead there was only a melancholy feeling of loss left. Nothing was to be done about it for now and Christine supposed that she would simply have to wait until a moment could be found to escape. If such a thing were possible.

Christine found her trance like state interrupted when footsteps were suddenly apparent outside her room. In the silence of the house, it was not hard to hear them. She turned her head slightly towards the doorway as the sound of a lock clicking echoed through the room. Whoever it was- though Christine was quite sure it was the man Erik, it had been proven that other people remained within these walls what with the boy in the garden and so she did not want to cancel out such an idea- they were now in her bedroom and their footsteps stopped outside the bathroom.

There was a short while of silence that hung in the air imposingly when the footsteps stopped. Christine was certain that the bathroom door was being watched, and so did not say a thing, waiting to instead be spoken to. She was not, though, and instead the footsteps walked away again, disappearing into the depths of the house. The bedroom door was not closed by the sounds of it, and in a strange moment of understanding Christine knew this was a small way of telling her that she was free to roam, at least for now.

When she had finally summoned the courage to enter the rest of the house, Christine could not help but feel in awe of the sheer grandeur of the building. The banister was a thick, sturdy wood that was unyielding against Christine's push in attempts to test its strength. Its deep oaky colour matched the floor boards perfectly and complimented the pure white walls. As she descended the staircase, Christine could not help but find herself immersed in awe of the house, but upon reaching the last step she shook her head fiercely and muttered to herself.

"It's a prison," she whispered, reminding herself. "It's still a prison."

There were minimal sounds coming from one of the rooms at the end of the hallway, the sound of footsteps and rustling. Though her first instinct was to move as far away from that sound as possible, there was something enticing in that movement that brought forth her curiosity. Slowly, not wanting to make a sound and be caught, Christine stepped forward, listening closely until she could ascertain which of the rooms the sound came from. As she walked, though, the footsteps stopped. Christine held her breath, waiting for anything that might happen, anyone who might appear.

No one did appear in that moment, though. Instead the sound of footsteps had been replaced with a slow, quiet tune that weaved itself into the air. Christine could not help but stand swaying slightly, finding herself increasingly absorbed in the soft piano. She was unsure of the piece of music, certain that she had heard it somewhere before but unable to place the name or composer, and so instead continued to listen with little regard to her sudden stillness.

The music continued for some time, and it was at least another two minutes before Christine found herself disturbed. She quite nearly screamed when a doorway beside her opened, the sound of it making her jump and cover her mouth, stifling any noise. The figure that emerged from that room did not seem so curious as to the source of the music, looking instead quite disinterested until he noted Christine's presence in the hall. It took her a moment to realise that this boy was the same one that she had seen in the garden in her first morning at this house, and this realisation put her at ease slightly though Christine did not know why. The boy raised a finger to his lips, signalling to her to remain silent, and pointed another hand towards the second door down along the opposing wall.

Christine shook her head vehemently, realising that the boy was indicating Erik's presence in that room. The boy sighed and pointed again at the room, gesturing for her to go, but again she shook her head, eyes widened with fear. She could see that the boy did not seem to want to force her- there was a sad expression in his eyes that betrayed him- but nonetheless he stood behind her and gently nudged her shoulder until she moved. The music continued still despite the now obvious sounds in the hallway of Christine's mild whimpers and the heavy sounding footsteps from the boy's heavy shoes. He stopped at the door and gestured again towards it, though offered a sympathetic smile after he did so before walking away, disappearing around a corner.

While the confrontation with another person had left Christine confused and somewhat frightened, there was a small part of her that felt at ease that perhaps there was a chance for escape. She had seen that moment of sympathy in him and it was all she needed to put her mind at rest.

The music played on and though Christine knew that she was to enter the room, she found that she could not for the time being. It was no longer her fear that stopped her from doing so but a sense of appreciation for the music that invaded her mind, a feeling that it was not to be interrupted. Instead she leant her head against the door gently, listening intently to the notes. She closed her eyes for a moment as she felt the music build, notes playing faster and volume increasing as the melody complicated itself. Christine repeated the tune over in her head, knowing that she had heard the music somewhere before but still unable to place it in her memory.

Then quite suddenly, the music stopped. There was no movement from within the room from what Christine could hear, and so she had no idea what to assume of the situation. After a moment she raised her hand to knock on the door, but before her knuckle touched the wood of the door a voice sounded from inside.

"Come in."

Christine blinked rapidly upon hearing the voice, still as shocked at the bold nature of Erik's voice now as she was when he first spoke in her new bedroom. She turned the handle slowly and peered into the room before fully entering, taking in the look of the room as she did so. It was certainly as grand as any of the other rooms, though what astounded her was the contents. There seemed to be a running theme of old fashioned furniture in the house as she noted a few oak based leather chairs in the corner by a fireside, the sort that she had seen in many period dramas on the television. Christine sensed Erik's presence at the other side of the room and so surveyed the rest slowly, not wanting to meet his gaze that she knew laid itself upon her.

The wall opposing the doorway was lined with book cases, though Christine noted that they did not appear to be ordinary novels or reference books. Each one was tall and thin, inscribed with varying languages on the spine. It took her a moment to realise they were librettos- there must have been hundreds at least, all of them varying in condition and age. She scanned this wall for a minute before she realised that there was no choice now but to turn towards Erik, who stood quite calm and still beside a large piano. Though she hated to admit it, it was certainly one of the most beautiful things she had seen. She had rarely ever seen such a grand instrument, having only ever played briefly on a keyboard before, and even that had been a rather old item.

"I trust you slept well," Erik said with an almost forced monotone, forcing Christine to look at him clearly again. He stared at her with the same wary wonder that he had before, setting her on edge.

"Yes," she replied, choking back an involuntary _thank you_. Anger welled up inside of her, the manner in which this man stared at her not with a basic idea of _lust_ or _murder_ in his eyes, but instead with something more unfathomable that she could not accuse him of setting her blood on fire. She met his gaze directly, refusing to look away. "You really seemed prepared for my presence in this house, if the wardrobes are anything to go by."

He did not reply to this, but there was a stiffening in his shoulders- ever so mild but certainly noticeable to Christine at the time- that proved he registered her words. His silence emboldened her slightly and Christine stood a little taller.

"Well, you must have been watching me closely to get this so well fitted," she said boldly, pulling at the skirt of her dress pointedly. "I'm assuming you've been watching me, at least."

"It may surprise you, but I am not a man you should be afraid of," Erik said, though he was somewhat quieter than before.

"I have every reason to be afraid," Christine replied incredulously. "I don't know where I am, I don't know who you are, I don't know why I'm here!" She paused here, swallowing thickly as she clenched her fists tightly. "This is sick- this is _absolutely _sick. I looked through those drawers and it's all… all the right _sizes_, even Mama Valerius didn't know that kind of thing! And you took… took me away when I was _vulnerable_, you knew where I'd be and when I would get there, even though _I_ didn't know…" She trailed off, realising that she had trailed into a loud sob. Christine fiercely rubbed at her eyes with those clenched fists, not wanting any tears to be seen. "Please," she continued, degrading herself to a point of pleading, "please, I just want to know what's going on."

"I have explained, Christine," Erik began, his fingers trailing gently on the top of the piano's surface as he moved to stand before it. "You know that while here, you will not be harmed. I have not brought you here to kill you, to torture you or to… molest you in any way."

"Then what else is there?" she begged in return, feeling her anger again waning into feeble fear. Christine could feel her determination to meet those amber eyes fading, but she disallowed herself the release of letting herself close her eyes or look away.

"I brought you here to _thrive_, Christine," he said, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. As if she should have expected such an answer. "My dear, I know that you know of the harsh nature of the world. You know that one can be faced with trials that can break a person. Your parents-"

"Don't you dare mention them!" Christine screeched all of a sudden, cutting him off. The words echoed through the room and left a silence between them that only heightened those words that bounced from the walls. Slowly Christine's fists relaxed as the adrenalin rush caused by her anger subsided, causing a sudden weakness that she could barely fight.

"I… apologise," Erik said slowly, his tone weakening but his body still standing strong. "I only meant to say that you… understand what the world can do. This house is a sanctuary of sorts, I like to think."

"But why me?" she asked, bringing her hands to her elbows and hugging herself gently.

"Because you inspire me," he replied bluntly, not requiring a pause of thought before he spoke. "From the moment I first met you, you inspired me. My reason for _being_, my reason for _everything_."

"But I don't know you," Christine whispered, bringing her hands now to her head, the heel of her hands at her temples. "You're _insane_, I've never met you, and I don't know who you are, and I've done _nothing_."

She no longer had the energy to meet those eyes. They had exhausted her of all energy despite the day being so young. Allowing her hands to once again fall to her side, Christine walked with heavy limbs to the corner of the room where the chairs sat and sank into one slowly, staring forward with her knees pressed together and her hands resting on her lap. She heard the gentle feet approaching her but could not turn to face Erik at that moment, instead only able to stare into space. Even when he knelt down before her, she only stared past his shoulder, ignoring his fixated look upon her.

"Perhaps we have not met in what you might call… a conventional manner," Erik began, his hands hovering briefly as if to hold hers, but dropping futilely when he considered the idea and rejected it. "Do you remember last August, your rendezvous to _Neverland_?"

Christine did remember. It had not been long after her seventeenth birthday and Meg had decided that they would abuse her new fake I.D. to get into a club- _any_ club. _Neverland_ was a small performance based bar where it was said the 'artists' of the city went to drink, though the majority of the artists there were simply unemployed men who simply wanted to wait until a more _risqué _act came to the stage.

"I remember," Christine murmured, though she still stared into space with little regard to the man in front of her.

"And then you will remember that you performed that evening? Do you not?"

"Yes, yes, I remember." Meg had been adamant in forcing Christine onto that stage. Those who volunteered to go on stage often sang, and Christine had assumed it only natural to do the same. In the bright light she was unable to see anyone in the audience. She most certainly would never have seen the man who already sat in the furthest shadows of the room, watching her and listening intently.

"From the moment I first heard you sing there I knew that there was no other voice in the world to inspire me, Christine. There was no other voice for me to live for but yours."

Slowly, Christine turned her head to look at the man in the mask. Though she did not look at his eyes again, not daring to, she felt the need to see him again, to know that he was there.

"And you have been following me ever since then? For almost a year?"

"I have been learning about you," he said pointedly, as if correcting a ludicrous assumption. "I have learnt enough to turn that spark into a fire. I know it frightens you, Christine, I can see it there plainly on your face. But you have no reason to be afraid! I am not a man for you to fear, Christine, I assure you- I am only a slave!"

The idea of such a thing was one to be scoffed at, though Christine could not force herself to do so. She could only reply with the weakest of voices.

"A slave?"

"Yes, Christine, for _you_ and _you _alone."

"A slave who would keep their master a prisoner?" Erik did not reply to this, but now found the courage in himself to raise his hands once more and finally lay them on Christine's. "Why do you wear a mask?"

This question caught the two of them off guard. Erik's eyes seemed to widen behind that mask, and Christine could not help but be surprised at his fear of the inquiry.

"I mean… if you're not going to let me go, then why would you hide your face? Your identity can't be the problem."

"You mustn't ask me about the mask," he said lowly, rubbing his gloved thumb against her hand. Though Christine ached to snatch her hand back, she noticed that Erik's gaze had lowered in the first sign of weakness she had seen in him since she had arrived. Despite her better judgement she could not help but feel a sense of… _pity_.

"I'm not asking you to take it off, it doesn't make a difference. I just wanted to know why."

His thumb stopped its slow movement and Erik stood tall again, looking forward as if suddenly unaware of the girl before him. Christine looked up, waiting for any emotion to betray itself in the features she could see. That sickening sense of pity rose again in her chest despite her best efforts to quell it. _He's obviously mad_, she reminded that darker side of herself that wanted only to thrash out at the very idea of his sadness. _He can't help it_.

_He's still your kidnapper_.

Before Christine could say anything to this effect, Erik looked down sharply, neither smiling nor frowning, but his eyes burning with some hidden desire to speak words he would not say and that Christine could not comprehend.

"You will be hungry," he said lightly. "Come, there will be something prepared in the other room."

He offered his hand out to her, and though a small part of her urged Christine to take it willingly, she did not do so. It was safer she was sure to humour this man but perhaps being _safe _was not enough in that moment. She stood and pointedly kept her hands tightly fisted, to which Erik only nodded understandingly and walked on. An urge to once again rebel wanted her to remain behind, but the quiet growl in her stomach reminded Christine that she had indeed not eaten for quite some time, and she followed him from the room.


	6. Chapter 6

**Hehehe, Bank Holidays are awesome :D This one's a bit short but really I couldn't drag out this chapter anymore than I did so hopefully it'll get better later. I just want to thank my lovely reviewers- you guys seriously keep me going, I feed off reviews- and just wanted to make a note of the fact that because I'm an absolute dunce when it comes to French teenage culture, I've set this story in my lovely land of England. It's not really that big a deal right now but I'm sure a lot of my readers aren't from England and in later chapters I might use some of my good ol' slang and mention some cities that no one really knows. Just a heads up.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

Once again Christine found herself in a room that was far too bright and far too false for her liking. She no longer had Nadir at her side, nor did she have Mama Valerius. She had forbidden either of them to intrude on her now, despite their best efforts to persuade her that to again be left alone with _him_ would be unwise.

Christine had been directed into a separate room to the large hall she has seen other prisoners previously been directed into. As they walked by, she could see that they were already seated at their own private tables, each of them already deep in conversation with the family or friends that had come to visit them. Though Christine wanted to ask the guard that she followed why she was not being sent into that room, why she was being taken along so late in the visiting hours to a completely different room, but she did not. A thousand different ideas came into her head to explain the situation, but she did not wish to dwell on them for long.

She tentatively gripped the package in her hands, wondering for a brief moment whether it was to go under further inspection, though she could hardly see why. All that it contained was a few items she had salvaged from a short trip back to Erik's home. Though Nadir did not speak a word against the trip, Christine knew that he had been uncertain of taking her there. She had thought it only fair to bring Erik at least some of his smaller comforts considering he would not see any of them again.

When they reached the last room of the corridor, the guard stopped. She looked up towards him before he could open the door, tilting her head curiously.

"Why aren't we in the other room?"

The guard looked uncomfortable for a moment, looking briefly through the window in the door to the man sitting already at the table.

"The... kids were crying," he said, looking back apologetically to Christine who nodded slowly. It had been one of the many theories running through her head, though she hated to admit it to herself. The door was opened and Christine found herself once again in a room that seemed all too bright, all too real.

Christine could barely stand to look Erik in the eye as she sat down. The last time they had passed was after the trial, and she had seen that passing shame in Erik's features for the split second their eyes had met as he was taken away. She had heard the verdict being muttered as the doors to the court room opened.

_Guilty._

_Mental correction institute_.

It was all she had needed to hear to understand that unbearable shame.

Christine placed the package on the table, her hands shaking slightly as she pushed it towards him. He looked down at it curiously for a moment, apparently unable to meet her eyes as well. It was the mutual fear and embarrassment that gave Christine courage to speak.

"They let me go back to the house," she explained quietly. "I just thought... well, they'll let you use more of your stuff at the institute, won't they? It's not much, just some clothing, a couple of librettos, your..."

She trailed off, gesturing vaguely towards her own face, hoping that he would understand. He seemed to understand and looked up towards Christine, an unfathomable expression there that Christine was forced to study for a few moments. He seemed to be waiting, unsure of what to say and so laying the responsibility on her part.

"Look, I know you think I've done you wrong here, I know you never wanted to go into one of those places, but can't you see how much _better_ it is for you than a prison?" She paused for a moment, waiting for him to answer. "Erik, you can't just ignore me, there's only so long I can sit here."

Erik looked up, moving as if to speak but there was an almost audible sigh that emitted from his throat as the words escaped him and he fell quiet. Christine nodded, understanding, and stretched out a hand. She was loathed to do it but could not allow him to fall away, lost in his moment of humiliation. He looked down towards her hand and brought his hand to his temple, looking for a moment as if he had returned to his old, pensive self before shaking his head in shame.

"It's been so long," he said slowly, his other hand reaching out to gently lay itself on Christine's wrist, "and the bruises are still there."

"It doesn't hurt," she assured him.

"That doesn't change a thing. It happened."

"Yes, but no harm was done by it."

"The bruises are there, Christine," Erik said firmly, his voice quivering slightly as he brought his other hand forward and gently held the other wrist. "Lying to me won't change that."

"Stop being so dramatic," Christine chastised gently, allowing him to keep a slight grasp on her wrists. He ran a thumb gently across her skin as if trying to brush the bruises away. "Did they question you? In the trial?"

"They tried," Erik replied with the slightest hint of a smile in his lips, barely noticeable. "Your testimony proved insightful enough to divert questioning away from me."

"Your lawyer didn't ask me anything," she mused aloud. "I left myself pretty much open to anything in there."

"I… asked him not to question you."

"Asked?"

"I ensured it."

"I don't need you protecting me," Christine murmured grudgingly. "He couldn't have asked me anything that bad. Nothing that would incriminate me more so than you, and I doubt that was your concern."

"It was a precaution."

Christine paused again, waiting to be chastised for her own testimony- she knew how little he desired the label of insanity- or for the subject to be entirely brushed under the rug. He was apparently not so willing to give into either of these options.

"How… how have you coped? Since the trial? I know it wasn't really the outcome you were looking for, but maybe-"

"Actually, it was exactly the outcome I was looking for," Erik interrupted calmly. "You… twisted my arm, as it were."

"Thank you." Christine moved her hands so that Erik's hands now rested on her own. "Thank you, really. I wouldn't have been able to leave knowing that you were in… well, it's just safer in a clinic, right?"

"You have no reason nor right to care about my safety."

"You're my husband, Erik. Even if that doesn't really mean much in the end, it's enough."

"And how will _you_ do once you leave this room?" Christine thought a moment, returning her eyes to Erik's as she did so.

"I suppose I'll… I'll be fine. I mean, I'll have to figure out what to do before I can apply to university again. But everyone's there waiting for me. I'll be fine."

"You think they will _all_ be waiting for you?"

At this question, Christine stiffened. It was a small fear that she had been forgotten, but she pushed past that fear with a bitter determination. _Just because no one's waiting for you, doesn't mean they're not waiting for me_. She shook her head at this, scolding herself mentally for such a thought. She smiled as confidently as she could though, assured in her statement.

"They will be. Mama Valerius never gave up hope that they'd find me. And I _know_ Meg, she wouldn't forget about me."

"And anyone else?"

"I don't know why you're trying to undermine me, Erik. I know you think you know every little detail about me but only _I_ know my friends, and they _are_ waiting for me."

"I only ask that you are cautious about your expectations."

"Erik," Christine said firmly, turning her hands to actively hold his now, a serious look in her eyes. "You are not to think of my best interests anymore. I'm going to be fine. It's _you_ that we should be concerned for."

"And you are concerned for me, I suppose?" Erik asked bitterly, his knuckles protruding slightly under Christine's touch as he became tense.

"Of course! It has been a long time, Erik, I have learnt enough to fear for you. Do you really think I'm cruel enough not to?"

"I think that you've become quite skilled at feigning affection, my dear."

"You being bitter is hardly going to help anyone. I suggest you stop it." Christine smiled with an air of satisfaction as she noticed Erik's eyes narrow slightly at the chastising he had received. "Despite what you think, I do care. Why else would I be so determined to keep you out of prison? I want you to get _better_."

"I have nothing to recover from."

"Yes, you do. You know very well you do. And I have made it my business to ensure that you _do_ get better."

"And you expect me to believe you?"

"As a matter of fact I do!" Christine replied sharply, quite tempted by this point to bring her hands away, though she could see a sense of desperation behind that initial bitterness in Erik's features that stopped her. "And sod your concerns otherwise! Your health has been a trouble for me ever since the day we met, do you really expect me to simply let you wallow in your problems while I gallivant off to whatever it is I have to do?"

"I expect you to live on as if none of this had ever happened." That bitter tone had lessened into a somewhat pitiful whimper that in any other man would have been pathetic. Hearing such a tone from Erik sent a shiver down Christine's spine, one that inspired nothing but the greatest protective instinct within herself. She grasped his hands tightly, biting her lower lip.

"I will come back to you," Christine said. "I will visit. I'm not going to just disappear forever."

These words were the last that Erik could take before a low, mournful moan escaped him and he lowered his head, resting his forehead against Christine's hands. She could only look at him, feeling his grip on her tighten slightly as his shoulders shook with dry sobs. She had seen him cry before, sometimes at memories, mostly after he had hurt her in a fit of passion. Yet it had always been such a sad sight that she had forced herself to look away or remind herself that he deserved those tears. Now, however, she knew the source of his weeping was one of… _joy_. Perhaps joy was too strong a word to use, Christine thought to herself, but there was an appreciation in him that could only be expressed with tears.

"I already asked, apparently they said I could visit you about once a month? I mean, I won't, I can't travel, but I _will_ come every so often, I promise. Maybe once every two, three months? It's not much, I know, but it's got to be better than nothing."

"It's more than I could have asked for," Erik said, pressing his lips to Christine's knuckles gently before looking up. "Oh, Christine…"

He was silent again, apparently quite content in that moment to remain so. His eyes no longer searched over her desperately for any reassuring words, suddenly calm again. Christine's eyes flickered momentarily to the guard who stood at the doorway, but he did not look at them and kept himself distracted from the conversation at the table. It was a small comfort to feel that the two were isolated for a short time and she returned her attention to Erik.

"You must try and forget me, though," Christine said. "At least… at least try. Try and realise that you _can't _love me."

"I can and do."

"You think you do. But you must try to realise that it isn't in your best interest to do so."

"If you insist," Erik replied, though there was little conviction in his tone. Christine would not argue the point any further, though, knowing full well that he would be reminded of these things time and time again when he was moved to the clinic. She suspected that he would not listen to the officials either when the time came.

The rest of the hour passed quickly enough, their hands never leaving contact while the conversation dithered into nothing more than a comforting knowledge of the other's presence. When the time came for Christine to be escorted from the room, she smiled reassuringly to Erik who seemed resigned to this inevitability.

"I'll be back soon," she said, though her tone irritated even herself. She had come to realise that Erik was no longer the man who had frightened her so desperately when they first met. He was just a child now, and she spoke to him as such. A child that needed her care to stop him from wandering alone in the world without direction.

For the first time, Christine accepted the fact that perhaps Erik needed her as much as he had always claimed.


	7. Chapter 7

Though she wished to do nothing more than hide away again in that dreadful, beautiful bedroom of hers, Christine had followed Erik quietly across the hallway into another disturbingly grand and gorgeous room. She did not suspect that guests would often be welcomed in this house and so could not help but look surprised when she saw the furniture was plentiful; a large, almost royal table with at least twelve places available. Erik walked ahead slightly and pulled out a chair, waiting for her to take it. Christine looked at the chair briefly and then, keeping her eyes quite directly fixated on Erik's, she took the seat opposing it. He sighed audibly, a mild look of pain across his face.

"I understand that you are... upset, Christine, but I am only trying to act civil."

"You pulled out the chair. That means it's yours," Christine replied levelly, placing her hands demurely on the table in front of her. Erik looked briefly at her with a sense of disbelief before recovering himself and turning his head towards a door at the other side of the room.

"Mary," he called out authoritatively. "You may come in now."

Christine still refused to look away from Erik, but could see nonetheless as an elderly woman came into the room bearing a tray of food that Christine took little notice of at the time. She had her head bowed, avoiding the scene in front of her as she came forward and placed the tray in front of Christine. After brushing her hands on her apron, the woman turned to Erik.

"Will that be all?"

"You may leave now," Erik conceded. He seemed to struggle with himself for a moment before letting out a rather choked: "Thank you."

The woman seemed to give the smallest of smiles as she nodded and disappeared again. Erik turned again towards the table and sat, meeting Christine's eyes. They were still quite unforgiving.

"Who was she?" Christine asked quietly.

"A housekeeper."

"How many more people are there here?"

"We have only the four servants."

Christine paused for a moment.

"And do they know why I'm here?"

Erik nodded in reply.

Christine dropped her gaze quickly towards her plate, closing her eyes. _So I'm not just trapped with one ethically unsound individual. There's five of them_. To think that there were more people in the house who knew of the kidnapping slowly became almost unbearable. Knowing that there was someone else who wouldn't do a thing to help. It was sickening.

"Eat," Erik said abruptly, seeing her slip away into her previous melancholy. "You must be hungry by now."

She was, of course, but there was a certain reluctance in her movements that she hoped put across a sort of defiance. Erik watched her as she ate with what seemed to be an air of casualness, his elbows on the table and his chin held up gently with the back of his hands. _How dare he seem so nonchalant!_ Christine did not look up, only catching a glance once or twice throughout the meal through her hair. He did not seem to draw his eyes away from her for one moment. She finished eating but kept her eyes down, unsure of what to say. Erik seemed to notice this and let his hands drop to the table, folding them formally as if he were about to speak of business, though he only leant forward slightly as if anticipating speech.

"What are we meant to do now?" Christine asked. The illusion of Erik's calm nature was swiftly broken in the small twitching of his fingers that betrayed a certain nervousness. He seemed to be as clueless as she was.

"Perhaps… if you have any questions you must ask?"

_Where am I? Give me more details of who you are! How much have you been watching me? Why would you do this? Why do you think you love me? Did you hurt anyone back at home? What about Mama Valerius? Who are those servants? Why aren't they helping me? When can I go home?_

"Nothing you can answer," Christine replied.

"I will endeavour to answer any question, Christine, you need only ask." There was something in that weakly desperate tone that told Christine he really would try. She shook her head.

"No, I… I really don't care. All I ask of you is to let me go. But you won't. Anything else… it doesn't really matter, does it?"

The leather gloves did no good job of concealing the tightening of Erik's knuckles as he stiffened at these words. He sat a little straighter as he put up that wall again in his defence. The silence was weakening and forced Christine to sink into herself more, her shoulders hunched and chin lowered, giving her the perfect curtain of hair with which to cover the steady look she gave Erik whose own eyes still retained curiosity.

"I know that you are still frightened, but if there is anything you must ask, anything you must… get out of your system…"

Christine nodded slowly, thinking on her questions. She tucked her hair behind her ears and allowed herself to look up, not quite meeting Erik's eyes but proud nonetheless that she had the energy to let him clearly into her view.

"I'd like to know… what you thought would happen now. You said you wouldn't hurt me, and… maybe I believe you. But what did you expect to happen?"

Erik seemed to ponder this question with the same slow nature as Christine previously had. He offered her a small smile, tilting his head with the same feigned nonchalance he had seemed to master by this point.

"I hadn't quite thought about it, I must admit." But there was a tenseness in his jaw that betrayed him.

"You're lying."

"I…" He trailed off, unable to finish his sentence. He was quite uncertain in how to continue and kept a steady silence between them as he thought. Christine waited patiently, sure that to speak would not at all help her and nor would it encourage him. "I seem to have… thought ahead of myself."

"What do you mean?" Christine asked, knitting her brow in confusion.

"You will be turning eighteen later this month."

It was a statement rather than a question. Christine stiffened slightly, unsure of how to respond. It was an obvious thing to say, but there must be some intent behind it.

"And at that time you will be… of age," Erik continued, seeing that Christine could not find a reply.

"What of it?" She had intended for the words to be confident, but she trembled.

"There are certain… certain legal matters that can be… arranged…" Erik stopped and tightened his fists again, finding words. After a short pause he released his fingers and returned to a pose of calm composition. "When your birthday comes, I will ask you to marry me."

The world fell into something deeper than silence in that moment. Christine could see clearly that Erik continued to speak, though she could no longer hear him. Marriage. _Marriage_. Rape she could understand. Murder was one of the first things she had thought of when she woke up in a strange room. But marriage? It was ludicrous to be certain. Not dangerous, simply ludicrous. And yet, while there was something almost humorous in such a strange request, it seemed frightening. Strangely so. _Christine. Christine_.

"Christine?" His voice had invaded her thoughts before she heard it in reality and Christine flinched slightly upon hearing it clearly in her ear. She took a deep breath, prepared to fight and scream for whatever she was worth.

Instead, before she could form a single word, Christine's breath turned into a loud sob as she burst into a fit of childish tears.

"I don't- want- to get- married," she said between open sobs. Although she could not see Erik's reaction to her outburst, she suspected that he was frightened for a moment. Certainly she would be if she were in that situation, to watch a girl near adulthood crying like a child who had fallen over in the playground. Her cries did not put him off for long, and instead he spoke with the kindest, most pleading tone he had summoned in their time together.

"You are frightened, Christine, I know, but you have weeks yet before it is to come. Perhaps you will have learnt to abide by me by that time. I cannot ask you to _love_ me by that point, you are in no position to, but _please_, calm yourself."

"You can't- make me," Christine continued, rubbing her fists against her eyes to wipe away tears. "I won't do it! You can't- can't make me- marry you!"

"We both know that's not true, Christine." She sobbed even louder upon hearing this. It was true, she was sure that Erik could force her to do almost anything he desired. This was, after all, a man deranged and complicated enough to find her in a place she did not know she would be, and to carry her away without being discovered.

"You wouldn't- make- me- if you really- loved me."

"Oh, but it is _because_ I love you that I must ask for you to marry me." _Ask_. As if he had any intention of letting her have a choice in the matter.

Christine continued to cry, past the point of caring what she looked like sitting there in such a childish outburst. Perhaps it would put him off, she thought. Perhaps it would only strengthen any affection he had for her into a pity that would make him realise his mistakes. Or perhaps it was only a release for that moment that she saw fit to show the world, no matter who could see her. She felt herself slow down and breath steadily again, still choking on loud sobs every so often but no longer clouded by tears. Instead, the quietness sank deeply into her and her previous, petty fears were replaced with a new horror. The sound of a chair scraping against the floor made her stand straight and move swiftly behind her own chair, attempting to glare at Erik but only managing to bring forward a pleading look.

"Don't come near me," she begged, gripping the back of the chair as if it were armour. "Please, don't come any closer."

"Why do you still refuse to believe me?" Erik asked, his own pleading tone now long gone and replaced with a certain melancholy. "I am not going to hurt you. It won't be so bad, you know, being married to me! I would be a dutiful husband. More so than any other man you might meet, I should think."

"I don't care," Christine whimpered in return. "You can't make me do it."

"I'd come to understand that women were often delighted at the prospect of a marriage proposal," Erik said somewhat bitterly, his tone quite changed. "I suppose I should not have expected such a gratifying response, should I? No, poor Erik is not worthy of your delight, is he?"

"I don't know what you're talking about!"

"Christine, I _will_ ask you to marry me when you turn eighteen. And you _will_ agree to it."

"But- but I can't, I _won't_!" A slight change in Erik's posture told her that she would pay dearly for her denial against him. He was angrier than she had seen him as of yet.

"Oh, but you know that I can make you, Christine," he seethed, leaning forward with his hands placed on the table, as if ready to pounce. "I know so much about you, you know. I know who you care for, and who of those can be found or _made_ vulnerable. Your friends. Your guardian."

She uttered a low moan in response to this. To know that she had been kidnapped was one thing. But to hear of her friends, of Mama Valerius, being hurt or threatened? It was more than she could bear.

"I could make them hurt, Christine. And it is in your power to stop that from happening."

At this Erik moved his hands from the table and walked slowly around it, making his way towards her. Christine uttered a sharp shriek as she backed away quickly, hitting the wall fairly quickly and pressing herself towards it as if she might disappear. Her reaction made Erik stop for a moment. A moment was all it took. Christine's head sharply turned towards the door and she ran for it, determined to make her escape. She at first planned to return to her bedroom, knowing that there was no use in looking elsewhere in that moment, but as she ran out of the room there was an urgency with which Erik called her name that told her she would not escape so easily.

Although Christine did not know where her compulsion to run and hide came from, it was a power that drove her to run faster despite the smooth floors and the fear induced clumsiness. It did not take long before the footsteps began to follow her. As they grew louder, Christine could feel her heart racing. Finally she reached a dead end through the endless corridors that she had expected from such a large house. Christine turned her head once and though she could not see anything, she could hear Erik's feet and the demanding call of her name.

"Christine!"

Hearing her name was all the encouragement Christine needed to dart into the last room of the corridor. It was certainly one of the least used rooms she had ever set her eyes upon, all the furniture covered in large white sheets which themselves were covered in a thick layer of dust. The air was so musty and old that Christine nearly began to cough but she firmly placed her hand over her mouth, stifling any sound that might have escaped. She closed the door gently behind her, hoping that it would not be heard, and quickly darted towards the covered bed. It was perhaps a little too cliché for her liking, but the only hope she had was to hide under it.

A few moments later the door was opened again. From her spot, Christine could see little, only a thin strip left bare for her to peek through. The smartly dressed feet stopped at the doorway and paused as Erik looked about the room for a sign of Christine. He took a few steps in, surveying carefully, his movements slow. It took a short while for Christine to realise that her hand pressed deeper into her flesh, her fingernails digging in to a point where she might have cried out in pain. However, before it became too much, the feet turned again towards the door and Erik began calling out to Christine again, searching through the house.

Christine counted a minute out in her head before she rolled out from under the bed, brushing the dust from her hair and looking about. The door had been left open in Erik's rush and she could hear him still on the same floor of the house but quite distracted in another room searching for her. Slowly, Christine edged from the room, looking down the corridor before moving on. There were no longer any tears obscuring her vision and though she could still feel her heart racing, she no longer felt as if she could be heard and allowed her trembling fingers to remain by her side rather than blocking her mouth.

With almost painfully slow steps, Christine walked down the hallway, keeping her watch on the path ahead of her and listening intently for any sign of anyone coming for her. For the time being it seemed safe, and in a moment of exhaustion Christine stopped and leant against a door frame, trying to steady her breathing and think her situation through. Escape from the house didn't seem possible at the time. When it came down to it, there were five people that could stop her. For now the only hope was to find somewhere that she could hide away safely.

Footsteps came closer now, the sound stronger within the hallways. Forcing herself to be calm, Christine reached backwards and turned the handle to the door she rested beside. As quietly as she could, she slipped into the room and closed the door, resting her head against it to listen for an approaching presence. It did not come, and so there seemed to be no issue with sinking into the room and finding somewhere else to hide. _Just in case_.

When Christine turned around and surveyed the room, she froze.

The room was certainly used more often than the previous one had been. Dark walls and dark drapes gave the room a morbid feeling that made her want to run. But it was the furniture that made her stand still. It was not the set of string instruments that crowded the corner. It was not the large wardrobe with almost grotesquely Gothic carvings in the woodwork. What made her stand still was the bed.

_The coffin_.

Though Erik's voice flashed through her memory in that moment reminding her that she would not be harmed, that she had nothing to fear, it did not help her. A coffin was a finite item. It was the last bed a person would ever know. Erik's voice dimmed into a mild whisper in her mind, drowned out by her own thoughts screaming _murder_. There was the coffin to prove it. It was ready for her.

Christine did not realise she was screaming out loud until this thought. Long, piercing screams that her hands could not muffle, no matter how much she tried. In a fit of hysterics, Christine felt her knees weakening, threatening to make her fall to the ground, but the adrenalin that ran through her veins and caused her body to shake forced her to stand. It could not have been long that she stood there screaming, she supposed. Before long, the door behind her opened. However, she could barely hear the door above her own voice. The first sign she had of any presence in the room was the arms that snaked around her waist, dragging her away from the room.

In her fit of rage and fear, Christine could not find a rational way to express her horror other than to kick and struggle against Erik's grip. He dragged her down the hallway quietly, refusing to speak to her or calm her, either because of an underlying fury from their previous conversation or because he believed it would be futile to do so. As they reached Christine's room, the screams died down to angry sobs. Erik's arms still remained strong around her despite her clawing and he had no problems in forcing the still thrashing girl onto her bed.

Erik held Christine tightly towards him and it took her a few minutes to realise that his intentions were only to keep her still, but the knowledge did not make it any easier to have him so close. She tossed and turned, hoping that he would understand that she would not- _could _not- leave in such a state. He did not let go, however, remaining with her until the angry cries turned into melancholy sobs, which in turn evolved into tired whimpers. Although she was not certain of when she fell into unconsciousness, there was one thing Christine was certain of. Not once until she did sleep did Erik leave her_._


	8. Chapter 8

To Christine's delight, Nadir had been relocated into an apartment building within the city for a few weeks. It seemed unnecessary for him to be there but the department that he worked for believed that she would need someone around just in case the trauma they suspected she was under suddenly took full force. Both Christine and Nadir were confident that this would not happen, but nevertheless the plan went ahead.

It was, to say the least, strange to return back to Mama Valerius's home. Christine looked about and was curiously surprised to see that nothing had changed. Everything looked as impeccably clean as it used to, no furniture had been moved, all the photos on the walls were the same. Nadir left swiftly after having dropped them off, briefly discussing a visitation plan with Mama Valerius while Christine wandered through the short hallway in a dazed state, looking at the different rooms. Memories that had seemed so distant a few hours ago were suddenly brought to the forefront of her mind.

It was as if she hadn't left at all.

When Mama Valerius finally urged Christine to her room- _"You need your rest, dear!"_- she felt a sudden sense of homeliness that had not been achieved in any other room. Thinking back, it seemed as if years had passed since she had had a proper night's sleep, although she had little intention of sleeping when she arrived. The room had been regularly cleaned by the looks of things, and not a thing was out of place. Christine scanned the items in her bedroom, looking from the row of books on the shelf above her bed to the cluttered desk at the other side of the room.

"A years worth of e-mails," Christine muttered to herself when she saw the old PC computer on the desk. "Now this I've got to see."

Despite the fact that a year ago, the computer had seemed positively prehistoric compared to her friends', the time spent without the small technological pleasures made her feel as if she had travelled forward in time somehow.

_1,588 unread e-mails_. The absurd number made Christine laugh aloud, and a brief scan over the pages upon pages told her that there was little that could interest her. It seemed that more than a few people in the school had found her e-mail address somehow and had sent a variation of messages early on in her abduction. She had never heard of half of the names, though, and gave up on the idea of reading them all. A passing fancy appeared in Christine's mind to search her name, to see how many articles would appear about her. Her fingers itched to type her name until she heard the phone ringing downstairs. She listened out to see if Mama Valerius would call for her- it was a vain idea but she supposed that anyone who called would be curious to know how she was doing- and sure enough it only took a few minutes before Christine was called out to the landing.

"Who is it?" Christine shouted from the top of the stairs, looking down to Mama Valerius who held the phone against her shoulder while they spoke.

"It's Ann- Meg's mother. She wants to know if you're up for a visit tomorrow night, apparently Meg's organising something as we speak."

Christine paused briefly before laughing with a sense of shock. Though it shamed her to admit it to herself, she had almost utterly forgotten about her friends. She nodded eagerly and Mama Valerius returned to the phone.

"She's certainly up for it," she said down the phone, grinning slightly. "She'll be there. Six o'clock then. Bye, Ann."

The moment that the call was finished, Christine squealed in delight and clapped her hands, fighting back tears of joy.

"I _knew_ she hadn't forgotten me," Christine cried out, grinning from ear to ear.

"Of course she hasn't, Christine," Mama Valerius replied. It was a curious thing for Christine to say- of course Meg had not forgotten her! Then it struck her that perhaps this was an insecurity created in her time away. There were still so many things to be heard and uncovered. She smiled reassuringly when she saw that Christine had noticed her slightly lessened spirits. "Oh, sugar! I forgot to ask if she could come and pick you up…"

"It's not that far, Mama, I could walk it if-"

"No." Christine flinched slightly at the abruptness of the reply. "No, I'm not letting you out by yourself. I'll come with you on the bus if I have to."

"I could phone Nadir?" Christine offered. "I don't think he'd mind, he drove us all the way back here."

"Maybe we shouldn't bother him."

"Might as well give it a try," Christine said with a shrug, skipping down the stairs and reaching for the phone.

Of course, it hadn't been an issue at all.

Christine had spent what felt like hours prior to Nadir's arrival staring in the mirror and searching through her old clothes. It felt completely strange to take such an interest in how she looked, Christine thought, but there was a gaunt look in her features that she had been unable to rid herself of that made her wish to compensate for such appearances. Finally the absurdity of her paranoia hit her and Christine settled with an old baggy pair of jeans paired with a faded blue vest top. For a short moment, she caught a glimpse of the _old_ Christine in the mirror.

The drive over was for the most part quiet. Though Nadir had smiled in his usual friendly manner, Christine could not help but feel quite suddenly distant. He seemed of a different time now that she would be meeting those that she had left behind. Nadir did not ask for an explanation for her quiet nature and drove on. She rested her head on the cool glass of the window and thought for a short while.

"Thanks again for taking me," she said at last. "I know you didn't have to."

"Believe me, they're paying me way too much for what I'm meant to be doing," Nadir replied casually. "I might as well add a few more things onto my agenda to break even."

"How much _are_ they paying you?"

Nadir tapped his nose and laughed briefly before returning his attention to the road.

"Left here, right?"

"Yeah, then the second left after that." It felt strange how easily the directions slipped from her tongue. As if she had visited only yesterday.

"Swank," Nadir muttered appreciatively. Christine supposed that in comparison to Mama Valerius's small, barely two floored home, the tall structures in Meg's street seemed positively first class. She swallowed thickly as they turned the last corner and drove down the long street leading to Meg's home at the end of the cul-de-sac. Nadir noticed Christine freeze slightly and was about to speak about it until he noticed what she was staring at.

"What on earth are they doing?" Christine asked quietly, tilting her head slightly as she looked at the two figures standing outside the house. Nadir laughed aloud when he saw the two teens standing and staring at the oncoming car, pulling out a banner. Christine uttered a disbelieving shriek, putting her hands to her lips. "Meg and Paul!" she cried, allowing herself to laugh now.

_Welcome Back!_ It was crudely painted in a way that only made Christine laugh more. Nadir pulled up to the curb and shook his head at the girl whose eyes rested on Christine as she jumped up and down, a large grin on her face. Christine did not wait a single moment longer before she undid her seatbelt and leapt from the car into the waiting arms of Meg who had dropped her end of the banner in haste.

Meg flung her arms around Christine's neck and laughed euphorically as they held each other. Nadir stepped out of the car and watched as the girls laughed and cried together, the teenage boy finally being pulled into the group.

"You- you didn't have to d-do that," Christine choked between her now waning sobs of joy. Meg laughed and shoved her shoulder playfully.

"Course we did! We didn't get you a birthday present, so you get a banner!"

"Well, _she_ didn't get you a present," Paul said with a smirk. "_I _on the other hand have been the perfect friend."

"Then what did you get me?"

"Good thoughts, my dear, good thoughts, they're worth their weight in gold."

"I always loved your gifts," Christine said with a smirk, wiping her eyes quickly with the back of her hand. "Oh! Nadir, this Meg. And Paul. Guys, this is Nadir."

"The chauffeur," Nadir added, bowing his head. Meg smiled and nodded her head in reply.

"My mum just put the kettle on if you wanted anything? We're gonna be in the back garden most of the evening so it's probably safer in there."

"It would seem a little rude."

"No, really, stay for a bit, I need someone to distract her anyway," Meg insisted, grabbing hold of Christine's shoulders and pushing her ahead into the house. "At least for a bit while we get this one blindfolded."

"Blindfolded?" Christine yelped, flabbergasted.

"Well, we couldn't very well spring a surprise party on without a mild kinky twist, could we?"

"I'll go grab your bag then," Paul said, shaking his head at Meg's renewed hyperactivity. "Just another one of those delightful little things I do for you, Christine."

Christine turned her head to give Nadir a quick, apologetic smile and turned back in time to be shoved into the Giry household. Paul swiftly pushed Nadir into the kitchen and pulled a strip of cloth from his pocket. The blindfold. Christine rolled her eyes before obediently closing them upon Meg's command and allowing Paul to fasten the cloth behind her head.

"So this is the part where I'm faced up against the wall, right?" Christine asked as she was guided down the familiar hallway. "Firing squad and all that malarkey?"

"That was meant to be a secret!"

They continued walking until Christine heard the sound of the conservatory doors sliding open and the sudden silence of a recently hushed crowd. She knew that she was being watched, and anticipated the revelation of her friends again with bated breath. Meg decided it appropriately dramatic to count down before finally ripping the blindfold from Christine's eyes, making her squint slightly in the new light before focusing on familiar faces once more.

"May I present to you, ladies and gentlemen, Christine Daae!" Paul announced loudly as they came to embrace her. First came little Jammes and Jake, sandwiching her, before Piangi crushed her in a bear hug and Carla kissed her cheeks. Christine found herself mildly distracted at the use of _Daae_, but decided not to correct it.

"You didn't all have to come!" Christine said, though grinning from ear to ear.

"We _didn't_ all come," Meg said, pouting heavily. "Monsieur de Fucking Chagny decided he was gonna show up late. If at all."

"I thought Phillipe was planning on moving?"

"Oh, he did," Paul said as he shooed away the group back into the garden. "But he comes to visit during the holidays. Plus I'm in the same class as his brother so once Phillipe caught wind of the party, he refused to miss out."

"Of course, the absolute fuckwitt wanted to make sure that he could get a dramatic entrance, I'm sure."

Christine shrugged non-commitedly, unsure of how to answer. It was strangely exhilarating to hear Phillipe's name being spoken so freely now that her school girl crush had been admonished, and she hoped dearly that his intentions were solely for a dramatic entrance as opposed to him forgetting entirely about her. A sudden greed had come upon her and she found herself craving as many reunions as she could possibly fit into the evening.

She moved from person to person with the intention of learning of the past year, gathering what stories she could. Piangi talked about his prolonged stay in England while Carla animatedly talked of her position in the local amateur theatre group. Meg had taken a gap year for what she called _preparation for a dance career_, though Paul confessed to her later on that the aftermath of the _incident_ had left her without much inclination to leave. For a short while Meg had been somewhat of a celebrity considering her close friendship with Christine, but as the story had faded into obscurity she had been given lease to live a somewhat normal life again.

Though the stories gave Christine a sense of isolation, she clung to them desperately as if they would fill the year long absence from her friends. Perhaps an hour passed where she was simply spoken to, requesting new little anecdotes or asking for the answers to any question that popped into her mind. Most of the time they were small little questions. Which couples stayed together at school, who left crying after Exams Results Day, what films looked particularly good during the winter. It took all of her effort to not ask all of the deeper questions that threatened to escape from her. Did anyone visit Mama Valerius? How many people truly worried about her? How often was she in the news? How long before everyone forgot?

"Sorry we're late!" Everyone in the garden turned in time to see Meg leap from her seat and throw a thankfully empty plastic cup in Phillipe's direction. It ricocheted off of his shoulder and made him laugh unashamedly. "Hey, hey, I said I was sorry. I got kind of lost."

"I gave Raoul the fucking directions!" Meg shouted, batting Phillipe's arm now in her childishly violent manner that Christine was so accustomed to. She turned her head slightly to see the two guests that had followed Phillipe through the house. A tall, willowy looking girl with a dazed expression and a younger boy with somewhat of a resemblance to Phillipe whom Christine assumed to be Raoul, the younger brother.

"Well, perhaps you shouldn't have done that, he loses directions."

"I gave you the sheet of paper," Raoul said, exhausted by the looks of it. "I even memorised them. I then told you the directions. I then shouted when you went the wrong way. I then offered to drive."

"And this is why he's our favourite," Meg said with a nod of approval. Phillipe shook his head, smiling.

"Ah, Meg, you wound me deeply. _But_, I'm quite sure I'll be Christine's favourite this evening."

Upon hearing her name, Christine stood and moved from the plastic garden furniture towards the doorway where the group stood. She smiled widely when Phillipe noticed her and he opened his arms towards her, smiling back.

"There she is," he said as he dragged her forward into a hug that lifted her from the ground for a few short moments, forcing a short sharp squeal from her.

"If you're trying to be my favourite, you're doing a pathetic job," Christine laughed, feigning suffocation.

"You'll regret saying that," he replied, putting her again on her feet. "First things first, Christine, these two here. This here," he began, wrapping his arm around the girl's waist, "is Miranda, and that's Raoul, the brother."

Christine smiled towards the two of them, noting that Raoul seemed strangely surprised when he looked at her. Perhaps he had seen her pictures in the newspaper. For a brief moment she wondered how much he knew about her, considering his apparent friendship with the group, but she did not wish to question it. In any case, he disappeared fairly quickly to talk to Paul.

"So, Mr Favourite, why are you in my favour this evening?"

"Glad you asked," Phillipe said proudly, reaching into the pocket of his jacket and pulling out a small box. "A little birdie told me you've skipped out on a birthday."

"You really didn't have to," Christine said after a pause. She looked at the box as if it were somehow harmful. "I'd really completely forgotten about birthdays."

"You can't let all my hard work go to waste, Christine, I picked this out especially for you."

"_I _picked it out," Miranda piped up, leaning her head against Phillipe's shoulder. Christine thought for a moment it seemed a possessive action, but there was something in Miranda's dazed expression and soft, almost lazy smile that seemed comfortingly genuine. She smiled at the girl in return and finally conceded to take the box.

"It's… pretty," Christine whispered after opening the box in which lay a blue pendant hanging on a thick black ribbon. "Thank you so much."

"Go on then, put it on!" Meg said who could not tear her eyes away from the necklace. Christine did so, taking a short moment to stare at the pendant before knotting the ribbon behind her. She looked up afterwards, grinning widely at Phillipe.

"Well, perhaps Miranda will be my favourite for the evening if she's the one who picked it."

"Miranda, why do I bother bringing you out? You just steal my friends."

"I'm sorry for being so wonderfully charismatic," Miranda said, pecking Phillipe on the cheek quickly before walking through the garden, though Christine thought it looked somewhat more like _floating._

"So how did you two meet?" Christine asked after they watched Miranda leave, summoning any question she could to keep herself from falling mute.

"Funny story, actually, I was showing the family round the park in September and Raoul found her looking for her shoe. I found it hanging off a nearby branch somehow and became the wondrous knight in shining armour." Phillipe looked around, knitting his brow slightly. "Speaking of Raoul, he just disappeared there, didn't he? Hey, Raoul!" he yelled, catching the boy's attention. "Get over here!"

Christine blushed furiously as she saw Raoul's own abashed nature. He seemed to have realised in that moment that it had seemed odd to walk away so quickly previously, and Christine could not help but feel a great sense of regret at allowing Phillipe to call the boy over. Meg laughed at Christine's reaction and leant forward, resting her chin on Christine's shoulder.

"Just make the most of it," she whispered into her ear before skipping off out of sight. Phillipe turned to Raoul with a look of mocking judgement on his face, a fact that would have enticed laughter if he had been directing it towards someone who did not already look so repentant.

"Now, Raoul, you can't just walk off like that, it isn't polite. I think it's time you made some polite conversation." And with that, Phillipe joined Miranda, leaving the two behind in a state of embarrassed confusion. Christine bit her lip and turned towards Raoul, smiling awkwardly. He looked at her in return but did not seem quite so prepared to smile, only looking worried.

"I'm really sorry, that was rude of me, all things considering, I wasn't particularly thinking."

"I think it bothered your brother more than it bothered me," Christine admitted, shrugging. "You don't have to worry."

"No, I do. I'd intended to talk to you, really." He paused for a moment, calculating his words. "You're a bit of a legend, actually. Paul saw me reading some article about you when I first moved in and warned me not to show it to Meg or the others."

"You read articles about me?" Christine asked, a little amazed before she reminded herself that it must have been quite common news around the place. "A legend, huh? I like the sounds of it. Makes it all seem rather… important."

"More than important!" Raoul said with a sudden excited surprise. "Don't you realise how much you mean to them?"

Christine could not help but smile at this. Raoul quickly retreated to his previous embarrassment, his cheeks flushing a deep red.

"Sorry, I shouldn't really be talking about this, all things considering. I'm not the one who should be filling you in on everything."

"Maybe you're exactly the person who should be updating me on everything," Christine said. "I get the feeling everyone else is skipping out on details."

"They most definitely are," Raoul admitted. "Meg's been on tenterhooks for the past couple of days planning this. I don't think I'd had a serious threat against my life till you came back." Christine could not help but smile guiltily.

"I'll have to make it up to you then."


	9. Chapter 9

Time seemed to roll into non-existence as the hours passed by. Christine stared out the window from her position on the floor, trying to see if she could count time using only the shadows casted about the room. Eventually she grew bored of the effort and looked about her bedroom, surveying the destruction that she had caused.

When she had woken up, finding herself alone, Christine's immediate reaction was one of anger. All the fury that had been quelled by her fear the previous day was suddenly brought to the surface, and without a second thought she grabbed her pillows, hitting them against the wall until feathers flew everywhere. She opened the draws, pulling a few of them out of the woodwork and throwing them to the floor. Dresses were scattered across the floor. Christine attempted to rip some at the seams, but they were designed in a way that made the job almost impossible in her state and so she settled with creating a mess of the room. There was no hope for ruining the bed frame, and so instead she settled for tugging at the heavy drapes at the window until at least one crumpled to the floor.

It had indeed been a busy morning.

After a while longer, there came a knocking at the door. The abrupt sound made Christine flinch slightly and she made no attempt to answer. However, the visitor did not seem to care, and after a short pause the door was opened and the old woman- Mary, if Christine recalled- from the previous day entered bearing a tray of food. She looked about the room but did not seem in the least surprised.

"Ah, so this is what you were up to," Mary said in slight amusement. "I was going to bring you some breakfast earlier but a good five minutes of crashing and I thought better of it."

"You might as well leave me to starve," Christine croaked, looking up at the ceiling.

"Don't be so dramatic, now. Come, you've barely eaten since you arrived."

"What do _you_ care?" she snapped in reply. Mary paused for a moment before setting the tray down on the bed.

"He's asked for me to make sure you eat something and I intend to do that."

Christine looked up sharply, flashing a large, false smile.

"He? Oh, you mean Erik, don't you? Yes, Erik, I remember. A sweet man, isn't he? Caring whether or not I eat. Let me tell you something about Erik. Did you know he picks up young girls in the park?"

"You're being quite unfair now," Mary said, though the statement had led to her alarm.

"Unfair doesn't even begin to describe it! Terribly unfair to the young girls, that is, don't you think? Do you think something could be done about it? I think it could."

Mary still looked shocked for a short moment, but it lasted not much longer than this. She cleared her throat and stood before Christine, her hands rested on her hips as she looked down. There was something in the authoritive nature of the stare that made Christine stare back, her smile faded but her eyes refused to let that glimmer of mischievous rebellion leave.

"I've seen enough tantrums in my time to know how to handle them," Mary said at last. "You're hungry and you're going to eat every scrap on that plate, or I'm not leaving."

Christine had expected such stubborn authority and so felt no surprise at Mary's sudden change of tone, but realised her hunger in that moment and with a certain sense of embarrassment stood and marched past the servant to the bed. She no longer stared at the woman while she ate, but was aware of the fact that, with nothing else to do, Mary had begun to clear away the mess that had been made. The nonchalance with which she did so was almost fascinating in a small way, but Christine was in no position to appreciate it. It barely took any time at all before the dresses were all placed in their drawers and the drawers were slotted back into the chest, though she stopped and clucked her tongue when she looked at the curtains.

"I'll have to get Stanley to fix that," she said with a small sigh.

"How did you end up here?" Christine asked all of a sudden, the thought coming to mind quite at random. She did not care that her mouth was full when she spoke, instead thinking it added the right amount of resistance to her treatment.

"Why'd you ask?"

"I'm just curious I guess. I mean, you don't _look_ psychotic. So what're you doing here?"

"Long story, my dear, long story," she replied, smiling slightly. There was a warmth in her tone that told Christine that her outburst was forgiven. "I've been here longer than the master, actually. But I'm sure if he wanted you to know about it, he'd tell you himself."

"He can't control what you say," Christine said, swallowing before she spoke. It was best to at least be polite now that she was being spoken to genuinely for what seemed the first time in days.

"I wouldn't want to upset him. And you shouldn't want to either." Mary paused for a moment in thought and then sighed, turning to Christine with a small, sad smile. "I know this doesn't exactly make sense right now but you really would do well just to…"

"Go with it?" Christine offered.

"Yes, perhaps. He really isn't a _bad_ man."

"If you say so," Christine said, though she wasn't at all convinced. She finished her meal silently, thinking through the situation. Not long ago, she had thought she might be able to reply on the sympathy of the servants, considering the young boy had been so remorseful. Now it seemed as if they were working with Erik by _choice_. It was petrifying to say the least, but Christine reminded herself to keep calm. It seemed as though it didn't take much to send her into a panic attack and it was not something that she wished to put herself through again.

Once she had finished eating, Christine pushed the plate aside and brought her feet onto the bed, curling up and resting her head on the now disarrayed bed sheets. Apparently it was not set to be a lasting plan, though, as she felt a dress thrown on top of her and heard Mary tut disapprovingly.

"You've had enough resting," she said chidingly. "In any case, I've been told to bring you down to the music room after you'd eaten."

"The music room?"

"I was just told to take you there, I wouldn't know why."

She nodded slowly, picking up the dress and looking at it with distain. Looking at it, she thought that perhaps she would feel cleaner staying in the same old clothes she had slept in rather than use any more of the clothes _he_ provided. Without looking at Mary, she darted into the bathroom and commenced scrubbing at her skin with the wash cloth almost as violently as she had her first morning in the house. Perhaps it would counteract the feeling of the dress.

When she emerged again, Christine felt all of a sudden apprehensive. So far, whenever she had met Erik, it had been a surprise. She had no way of preparing, and more often than not there was something still to be said, something to send her into a panic. Now, as she thought of what she might say or do, Christine realised that there really wasn't much left to request. She knew now what Erik's intentions were, and that under no conditions was he going to allow her to escape that fate. All that was left now was to try and find a way to pass the time.

Or escape.

Mary kept Christine close as they walking through the house, seeming to realise the Christine's eyes darted about in search for escape. She knew that there weren't any options for the girl in the way of exits, but it was nevertheless better to be safe than sorry. They reached the music room which Christine recognised to be the room she had previously been in with the piano. As they drew nearer to the room, Christine realised that that blasted melody was being played again, the same little tune that had left her waiting at the door in a sense of wonder only yesterday. Mary did not seem bothered by the tune, possibly having heard it many a time before, and boldly knocked on the door.

The music stopped in the midst of a note, leaving a short pause of silence before that familiarly frightening voice sounded, admitting them into the room. Mary's head bowed slightly now that she was in Erik's presence, her hands folded in front of her and her voice suddenly lower.

"I finally had her eat," Mary said quietly as Christine entered the room. "Is there anything else you'll need?"

"That will be all," Erik replied, repeating his previous pause of almost painful force before choking out a brief: "Thank you."

Mary nodded and left the room swiftly, leaving Christine standing demurely with her own eyes cast to the floor, arms by her side as she gripped her skirt tightly. She expected to be shouted at, for the anger she had already seen Erik portray to be thrown at her once more. He seemed quite as reluctant to speak, though, standing by the piano bench and seeming pensive for a moment. Christine could feel him staring at her, but a sudden wave of embarrassment washed over her and kept her humble, not daring to look up and meet his gaze. Any effort for rebellion was now gone, and now all Christine wanted to do was simply hear what Erik had to say, if there was indeed anything left to say.

"I had thought we might start your lessons today," Erik said, breaking the silence. _Lessons?_

"What lessons?" Christine asked as she furrowed her brow, her knuckles locking uncomfortably as she gripped her skirt even tighter.

"Your voice lessons, of course. That voice I heard last year was indeed _wonderful_, Christine, but one could hardly call it perfection until it has been cultivated."

"So… this is all about singing lessons?" she asked unsurely. Perhaps they had reached a point now where odd observations and requests were the norm, but Christine could not help but be confused.

"For now," Erik said. He moved quickly to the large book case containing the librettos Christine had taken note of previously and proceeded to run his fingers past book after book before finally pulling out one bound in red leather. The colour caught Christine's attention and she looked up, seeing Erik's own fascination. He noticed that she was staring after a short moment and smiled softly. "I thought that, perhaps, as you haven't had lessons before, we might start with something more… familiar?"

He moved back to the piano and flicked through the pages before settling the book down, looking towards Christine expectantly. There was no hint of impatience nor of the slightest impression of anger; he knew as well as Christine did that something was needed to fill the void of time, and Christine could not resist any distractions no matter how strange or out of place. She slowly walked forward, coming to stand by his side as she surveyed the pages. Her throat closed slightly in panic as she looked across the book, seeing notes flying across the page in a way she had never been able to read, but she breathed a sigh of relief when she read the words.

"You recognise it?" Erik asked when he noticed a small smile. He could barely hide his delight at having noticed such a rare sign of happiness. Christine was suddenly aware that she had been distracted vaguely from her previous sorrow, but could do little to stop it.

"Solomon Song? Yeah, I'm a bit of a Cyndi Lauper fan, she sang it in the _Threepenny_ revival, right?"

Erik nodded, though for a second Christine wondered if he had ever even heard of Cyndi Lauper. Looking at the music sheets, Christine could not help but think it a strange sort of song. It wasn't by any standard what she would call a _show tune, _but knowing that Erik was familiar with anything she had ever heard before… perhaps it was silly to think so, but it was so strangely odd.

"We will start with scales." Christine nodded, but furrowed her brow at a sudden thought. Erik noticed and tilted his head questioningly, looking up at her. "Is something the matter?"

"I haven't sung much at all in the past year," Christine said slowly, still thinking. "Not properly anyway. Did you ever wonder if I'd still be able to?"

Erik paused for a moment, his stare suddenly glassed over with his own internal concerns. It did not last long, though, and he returned his attention to the ivory keys.

"I highly doubt it," he said decidedly. "I have heard you sing, Christine, and you have nothing to worry about."

_As if my singing were my highest priority right now…_

Though the lesson seemed an odd thing to spend time on, Christine found herself quickly absorbed in the activity. Erik guided her through the scales repetitively, a good ten minutes spent on him continuously playing the same tune over and over again, trying to get her to perfect the notes. She quickly gathered that Erik took these lessons seriously, far more so than his initial timidity entailed. It took all of Christine's effort not to scream or simply refuse to make another sound, but she continued despite Erik's persistent corrections.

There was a pause of silence after the scales in which Erik shifted the libretto, setting the pages on the small stand atop the piano's surface. Christine was slightly disconcerted with the silence, having expected him to speak after having so much to say previously.

"Was it not… not what you expected?"

"Do you expect me to compliment your _scales_?" Erik asked, quite genuinely surprised at her worrisome look.

"I don't expect you to compliment me at all. It's just that you had so much to say a moment ago, I thought…" She trailed off and cleared her throat. There really was nothing more she could say. Erik looked at her for a moment longer, expectantly, but soon gave in and let his fingers trace along the keys before he tested the chords.

"You know when to start?" he asked quietly, moving from chords to melody.

There was barely a moment to nod before her voice began as if by it's own accord.

_You all have heard of Solomon, the wisest man on earth_

Christine felt her eyes close as she sang, frightened that her voice would quiver or that she would find herself faltering in some way. She could not allow it to happen. She needed this distraction.

_He understood humanity, and so he cursed the hour of his birth, and saw that all was vanity._

She opened her eyes again and looked at Erik whose own eyes seemed heavy. He was so confident in his playing that Christine was sure he would not even have to look up at the sheets.

_How great and wise was Solomon!_

For a moment, Christine could see the power that she held over him. If only for a moment, her voice was all that he could hear. It had seemed impossible to believe when she first saw Erik, but seeing him so distracted, so subdued, she felt so… powerful.

_And yet before the day was done, the world could see where it would end, his wisdom brought him to his bitter end_

It wouldn't last. That much she was certain of. There were only moments left to think in which she could find some way of abusing that power, in any way she could. There was nothing to lose.

_How fortunate the man with none_

Then came the cool feel of the mask beneath her fingertips…


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N- This chapter is really far too bland for my liking but hey, character development and all that jazz? Is that a viable excuse? In my defence, I was in the midst of exam panic while writing this and I kind of just want to prolong these scenes so everything doesn't happen just at once. I promise that next time, I will be more interesting! Thanks so much to all my lovely reviewers, I'm really loving hearing what you guys think**

**Also just seen that our avatars are now appearing next to our stories on the story listings… hot damn that's scary, I'm off to go make a cool display picture :D**

Christine awoke with a start, silent but frightened as she took in her surroundings. She felt her breathing calm, though, as she realised she was still in Meg's room, sleeping beside her bed on the inflatable mattress. Passing her hand across her forehead to wipe away the thin layer of sweat, Christine thought back. It was just a nightmare. Only a nightmare.

"Christine?" Meg whispered, looking over the edge of her bed, squinting slightly. "You alright?"

"I'm fine, sorry. Did I wake you?"

"No, I always wake up at four o'clock in the morning."

"Oh God," Christine groaned, falling back against her pillows and putting her hands to her face. "I'm really, really sorry."

"Were you dreaming? Was it a nightmare?" Meg waited for a reply but the room remained silent for a few moments before Christine began whimpering and turned her face into a pillow, shivering. Without a second thought, Meg climbed out of her bed and slid under the second duvet, wrapping her arms around Christine.

"Nothing's wrong, Meg, I promise, I just overreacted, it's nothing." Christine said the words as confidently as she could, but even she knew that they came out as mere babbles, an incoherent blur that didn't at all sound convincing. Meg noted that she was not crying, per se, only shaking as if she had come under a sudden fright.

"Was it _him_?" Meg asked tentatively, brushing a few loose strands of hair behind Christine's ear. The girl turned her head slightly so that she stared at Meg with only one eye widened with a sense of fear or shock.

"No!" she quickly replied, but paused before turning onto her back, staring at the ceiling. She sighed heavily. "Yes. Jesus, Meg, I've gone _mad_!"

"It's not mad to still think about it," Meg assured, tightening her hold on Christine. "It's only natural that you'd have nightmares."

"Then why can't I dream of the _bad_ times?" Christine murmured, clasping her hand over her mouth as her eyes watered. Meg paused and let the words sink in for a moment before propping herself up on her elbow, looking down at Christine with worried eyes. She thought for a moment she had heard wrong, though the guilty look in Christine's eyes said otherwise. Meg waited to think of a response that would hopefully lessen Christine's worries, but it was harder than she initially thought.

"I… don't know what to say, Christine."

"Just tell me I'm crazy," she replied, choking on her words. "Tell me I deserve to be locked up in the loony bin, I'm sure I do."

"Christine! Look, you're not mad. Not even a little bit."

"But- I'm meant to be angry, aren't I? With him?"

"I really don't know," Meg murmured in return. "Chris, have you… talked to Nadir about this?"

"I don't want to bother him."

"That's kind of his job." Christine paused and sniffed loudly to stop the sob she felt rising in her throat.

"I don't want to bother _anyone_ about this."

"Maybe it'd help. It doesn't even have to be one of us. Just try talking to someone? Anyone? Paul, Jammes, Phillipe, Raoul?"

She shrugged and turned onto her side, looking at Meg. A small, sad frown played on her lips and Christine saw a small crease in between her eyebrows. Despite the sad sight, a small voice cried out triumphantly in Christine's mind, as if trying to cry out to Erik. _See! I wasn't forgotten! They care!_

"You're determined to look after me," Christine said with a soft smile. Meg's own features lit up slightly, the crease still between her eyebrows but a small smile on her lips.

"Of course I am. I haven't been able to baby you properly in ages."

"You got your ears pierced," Christine murmured as her eyes closed. Meg could not help but smile, the poor thing looked utterly out of it by the later portion of the evening.

"And you grew your hair," Meg noted.

"_You_ got a fucking tattoo," Christine retorted, wrinkling her nose at the thought. "I missed out on so much…"

"You didn't miss _that_ much."

"Don't lie. Raoul's been keeping me updated, you know?"

"Oh, so that's what he was talking to you about? We'd thought he'd just fallen hopelessly in love."

"I think I've had enough love to last me a lifetime."

"Wait, were you…"

"No," Christine said, shaking her head slightly when she gathered Meg's assumption.

"What about that?" Meg asked, lightly tapping the ring bound finger on Christine's left hand. She shrugged lightly.

"I'm a little too sentimental for my own good."

"Is it official?"

"Yup."

"Go back to sleep, Chris."

The instructive tone made Christine laugh, but she did not question Meg's authority. It was obvious that she was perturbed at this point though far too polite to speak out about it. Christine wondered for a moment if she should try to amend the opinion Meg must have had of her at the time, but the time of night had finally gotten her and she was quick to fall asleep.

They did not mention the conversation again, a fact that Christine was grateful for. The morning was spent mostly with Meg's mother Ann chattering on, making up for lost time it seemed. Where her friends had thought it best to fill her in on the missing details of the year, Ann Giry took more pleasure in asking questions. They were not particularly invasive, simply inquisitive. Meg repeatedly tried to silence her but Christine assured her that the questions were not at all disturbing.

"Come off it Meg," Ann said after a brief chastising on her daughter's part. "If Christine had any issue, she'd have told me off herself, wouldn't you love?"

"I really don't mind," Christine assured Meg, though she still looked doubtful.

"You must tell me what the court house was like, I've never had a chance to go to one. Is it like on the telly?"

"A little bit. All those sort of official buildings look the same, really. Courthouses, police stations, hospitals, it's all pretty much the same."

"Oh, poop, that's sounds a little more boring than they try to make it out."

Christine shrugged non-commitedly. Boring wasn't the sort of word she would have used.

"You'll have to tell me what I have to do to get one of those blokes," Ann said in a mock whisper. "That Nadir? Absolutely _gorgeous_."

"Mum!" Meg squealed, mortified.

"Now don't you complain, missy, you're the one who shoved him in the kitchen with me. Thanks for the introduction."

"It was only to get the two of you out of the way, if I'd known you'd be a perve about it I wouldn't have bothered!"

"Did Nadir say what time he was popping round this morning?" Christine asked, though she had to force it through laughter. She'd never quite gotten over the close relationship between the Girys.

"Oh, he didn't leave," Ann said, winking at Meg who only sat with a slack jaw and wide eyes, inspiring a gust of laughter on Ann's part. "I'm joking! I'm joking! He said he'd be here for you around one o'clock, I'd assumed you'd both be awake by then."

"Hour and a half left. I think that's plenty of time to escape from your creeper ways. Come on, Chris, I'm sure we could think of a _classier_ topic to discuss."

Meg grabbed hold of Christine's wrist and dragged her from the kitchen, the two of them grinning slightly as if in some sort of conspiracy together. Christine still felt somewhat light headed and dazed from the evening before and allowed herself to be taken away, though she had little reason to complain. Despite the fact that it was still technically morning- a time in which it had become a well learned lesson that Meg would gladly murder anyone who dragged her away from her bed- she was in an unusually good mood. The happiness was infectious, and Christine felt as if she hadn't even been gone.

Christine had always been slightly fascinated with the Giry household. Ann had once been quite successful in her dance choreography, working in a variation of ballets down in London. She retired some years after Meg was born and had made plenty enough keep them in a sense of luxury. Where Christine's room was fairly modest, Meg's seemed practically like an extra lounge with a bed in it. There was plenty enough room left in the room for Meg to dance as she often did, and as she chose to do when they arrived again. She deftly switched on her small CD player- one of the rare signs of modesty in the house- and pranced about in an improvised series of movements that seemed reminiscent of a dance.

"Dance with me," Meg demanded, grinning.

"Not on your life, I'd crush your foot."

"That's a risk I'm willing to take."

"I don't think your mum would let me come back if I broke some of your bones."

"Well, if you're not going to dance with me then just sit there and tell me how pretty I look."

Christine laughed and stood, poking her tongue out at Meg before taking a few moments to wander about the room. There weren't enough books on the shelves for her liking, but what Meg lacked in books she made up for in ungodly amounts of _pretty things_. Baubles, jewellery boxes that lacked jewellery, empty perfume bottles, broken bracelets, small stuffed animals.

"You have so much _stuff_, you know?"

"You're just jealous because you don't have paper weights," Meg said, pulling a face.

"Just use a rock?"

"Why use a rock when you can have a rock covered in _glitter_?"

Shaking her head, Christine continued. Laptop, television, DVDs… it was all so foreign and _new_ compared to what she was used to. She felt for a moment like a caveman, inspecting all these strange items as if they were from another time. Meg noticed her friend's bemused face but didn't say anything, slightly humoured by the scene. Christine finally stopped when she came across the only item in the room that was at all older than her computer at home- a keyboard. She brushed her fingers against the plastic keys lightly, a layer of dust rubbing off.

"Yeah, it hasn't really been getting the care it's meant to have," Meg admitted meekly.

"Did you ever even learn to play?"

"I can play _Oh When The Saints_ if that's any consolation?"

"Not particularly, it's five notes."

"I'll have you know I'm bloody brilliant at those five notes!"

The CD stopped, the last song having been played, and Meg paused in her motion to swoop down towards her collection. She rifled through the different CD cases, wrinkling her nose at a good majority of them. Christine suspected that most of them were bought as a way of bulking the collection rather than for any real enjoyment from the music. She looked at Meg for a few moments before returning her attention again to the keyboard. Though she wanted to look away and simply help Meg with her pursuit of music, she found that she couldn't. _Play something_.

The urge to do so was irritatingly strong.

_Go on, play something._

_Just like Erik taught you_.

She pushed this thought away from her mind before testing the keys. It was really quite a shock that they worked considering the minimal care they had been given. They had always played Mozart, if ever they spent a lesson simply playing the piano. Christine continued playing as Meg peered over towards her, grinning. She moved towards the piano slowly, mildly entranced.

"I didn't know _you_ could play!"

"I learnt a bit."

"No, you _perfected_. Have you even heard you play?"

"If you like that you should hear me sing," Christine said, a little more proudly than she would usually allow herself to. Meg scoffed.

"Duh, I have, you're going to shove that talent in my face too?"

"I got better."

"You got really cocky, didn't you?" Meg said, laughing as she rested her chin on Christine's shoulder and watched her play.

"Eh, they're just useless little talents. It's not like I'm gonna be able to do anything with it."

"I dunno, Carla's always going on about her theatre classes," Meg said, rolling her eyes. The stories that girl had told them throughout the years had seemed increasingly ridiculous- it had been acknowledged by this point that not a single agent had come to beg for her as Carla claimed. "People make money out of this stuff all the time. Mum made a career out of dancing, I'm sure you can with singing. Or busking, if we're setting your bar lower."

"Busking sounds nice, but the costumes aren't as pretty." Christine smiled. "Perhaps I'll ask her about it. I mean, I don't really have anything else to do, I can't reapply to universities for _months_."

"Awesome. Now finish your song, I found some shirts you need to try on."

Christine laughed and somewhat reluctantly left the keyboard. A sudden burst of energy had run through her now that she had at least the vaguest idea of a plan- there had been little left for her to do now that she had finished her education but had nowhere to go. Perhaps local theatre had not been a part of Erik's _grand plan_, but at least his lessons were not to go to waste.


	11. Chapter 11

The icy touch of the mask…

It did not last long. Christine gasped as her wrists were caught in a surprisingly familiar vice-like grip. She could not help but shake as Erik's eyes bore into hers, flaming with an anger tinted with unknown emotion. The air was still ringing with the now lost melody, and Christine was quite sure she could have been deaf in that moment. Her eyes watered slightly as the pain caused by his grasp began to make itself clearly known. She inwardly cursed herself for her silly, childish actions- _Why did you push it? He was so calm! Everything was going so well!_

"Why, Christine?" he asked gently. Too gently. "I told you to leave it be."

Christine opened her mouth to speak, but before she could the grip tightened around her and all that escaped was a small cry of pain. He still did not let go, though. It was as if he were oblivious.

"I told you not to ask about it," Erik continued. "You knew not to touch it…"

Those eyes lowered slightly and Christine felt his hands tremble, though their strength was not waned. His trembling worsened as the moments went by and his head bowed forward, his own forehead only inches away from hers. She looked up, waiting for another reaction, another word- _anything_.

"Why, Christine?"

_Dear God, he's pitiable!_

"I'm sorry," Christine choked, feeling her voice crack as she forced herself to speak. "I am- I'm sorry."

His body convulsed ever so slightly, either from anger or the sensation of her fear, but it was enough to cause him to inadvertently yank at her wrists and force a sharp shriek of pain to burst forth.

"Please, Erik, you're hurting me!"

There was a pause before Erik looked up again, a small flash of anger in his eyes before it melted to nothing. However hard she tried, Christine could not see the emotion there and because of it could not gain an idea of what would happen. She felt tears prickling in the corner of her eyes and felt ready to cry out again, but before she could speak the grip on her wrists was released. Christine gave out a small sigh of relief as she softly cradled her arms, bowing her head quickly and closing her eyes, praying that this was a sign of some sort of peace.

"I really am sorry," Christine whimpered, holding back tears as the stinging sensation left its imprint on her skin. "I won't- I won't do it again, I promise, I didn't mean to!"

"Then why did you do it?" It was said in barely above a whisper, yet the words shook Christine to her core. He spoke with no anger now… only sorrow.

"Because I thought I could," she replied in a murmur.

"You can't." There was a pause as Erik gathered himself, his tone quite abruptly changing to one of formality again. "This will not happen again, Christine."

She shook her head, unable to speak for fear the words would sound pathetic in comparison to his.

"I think that your lesson is over with for today." Christine nodded slowly, releasing her arms and standing still, waiting for instruction or punishment. Neither came. "Come, you've yet to see the rest of your home, I believe."

Christine allowed herself to open her eyes, only to see a gloved hand offered towards her. Like a lost child, she gently reached out and lay her fingers upon his, too shy to take a bolder hold on his hand and too frightened to deny him. She shivered slightly at the cold touch but did not speak out. Erik led her forward, to Christine's knowledge never letting his eyes leave her; she could feel his gaze burning into her skin.

"Perhaps there is a room that you would be more curious in visiting?" Erik asked as he sensed the silence grow overbearingly stronger. "There is a second music room, a library, the kitchens, though I see no reason why you would-"

"The library sounds good," Christine said hoarsely, interrupting him. Erik nodded and guided her towards the back of the house. The room did not, upon closer inspection, seem to be much larger than the music room, and yet with the towering columns of book cases lining the walls, it seemed as if the room never ended. It was this sight that finally provoked Christine to look about with a curiosity she had not held in quite some time. Though she was not much of a reader- she tried to think back to the last book she had read all the way through and shuddered with a sense of shame at how long it had been- the idea of all these distractions lifted her spirits somewhat.

"I must admit I'm somewhat proud of this collection," Erik said as he watched Christine's continued appreciation. She flinched slightly in surprise when she heard him spoke, but before he could register any sort of fear in her eyes she smiled ever so lightly.

"It is rather… impressive," she agreed, returning her attention to the shelves. "I didn't suppose you were a man of such varied interests."

"These have been collected over multiple generations. They are not all my interests."

Christine nodded slowly. _Multiple generations?_ It was strange to think that Erik was born into a lineage of any sort- she had half expected that he simply appeared one day a fully formed man. He carried an air of isolation that made it impossible to imagine him with a family.

"Where are they now? The other generations?"

"Gone."

"There's no one left?"

"Christine, they are of no matter. Put them from your mind."

This was enough to silence the subject, though Christine wanted so deeply to continue. Yet she knew it would be disrespectful. After all, he had been repentant in mentioning her own family. It was only polite to return the favour.

_Return the favour? You owe him nothing! He. Kidnapped. You._

Christine pushed the thought away quickly, feeling her cheeks flush as a short flash of anger ran through her, coupled with embarrassment caused by… _Oh, I don't know!_ She moved away from Erik towards the window, wrapping an arm around her torso and biting the thumbnail of her other hand. A small lump of panic rose in her throat as she tried to ignore the rebellious little thoughts in her head. They wouldn't help her. They never did. Perhaps for now she should just… get by.

"How much of this is yours?" she asked tentatively, her voice shaking slightly as she looked pointedly out of the window at the vast amounts of greenery. There was something reminiscent of a garden there, but without a fence the plants looked as if they faded into the fields quite smoothly.

"All of it," Erik replied after a moment in which he strode over to the window, standing beside Christine. He no longer looked at her, instead mimicking her and looking out the window, the same distracted look in his own features.

"How much is _all of it_?"

"Several acres out in this direction. More than I know what to do with."

"More inheritance?" He nodded. "You really have far too much for so few people."

"It will soon be yours as well, you know?"

This certainly gave Christine pause for thought. Yes, she supposed it would be hers if his plans were to follow through. Did he intend for their to be generations afterwards to inherit all of this? She shuddered again, the thought being all too much to bear. Christine forced herself to continue looking out the window, staring at each and every plant as if she were at all interested- they were beautiful, yes, but she held less regard for plants than she did for books- and gathered as much detail of the scene as she thought was possible. The colour of the leaves, the position of the sun… it worked in distracting her after a few minutes. She could see in the distance, working at the farther corner of the garden, the same young lad that she had seen once in the gardens before and found in the hallway. Erik saw that her stare had landed elsewhere, and was swift to interrupt her thoughts.

"One of our four servants," he said in explanation. "He's never been able to cook or clean, so I put him into the gardens instead to keep him occupied."

"I've seen him before. He was the one who told you I was awake." Erik remained quiet, the silence urging Christine onwards. "What's his name?"

"Richard."

"Oh." _No last names I suppose…_ "He doesn't look that old. Is he related to Mary?"

"Mary is in quite the same position as me; she has no family."

"Then is he related to either of the other two? How else would he come to be here?"

Erik paused for a moment as if thinking. Christine turned her head slightly to look at him, though he did not return this action, still maintaining his concentration elsewhere. Finally he audible sighed.

"I once knew his father. A Mr Joseph Buquet. We had been at one point work colleagues in a private firm- we dealt in finances and the like, you could say. After his… after his death, I thought it only just that I should at least give his son the opportunity to work."

"Finances?"

"The less said, the better, Christine," Erik said firmly, and once more a topic was barred from her.

"He's done a wonderful job with the gardens," Christine said quietly.

"I'm glad you like it."

"Everything's really quite wonderful here," she continued. Though she still spoke quietly, the reluctance to speak the words at all was all too evident in her tone. Erik took hold of Christine's hands again, careful only to let their fingers brush, and guided her away from the window to the seating by the fireplace- the only break in the wall of books. As she sat down, Christine noticed that Erik did not intend to take his own seat, instead again settling himself dutifully on his knees before her. The action caused Christine to look up at last, meeting his eyes with vague curiosity.

"Are you happy, my dear?" Erik asked, sounding so sincere that Christine thought her heart would break to heart it. She opened her mouth as if to speak, but stopped herself. Are you happy…

_No_, she thought to herself immediately. _No, I'm not happy. I just want to see Mama Valerius again. I want to see Meg. I wish I was back with them_. Yet… the pain was not as severe as it had been initially. It had ebbed over the course of the days, washed away by fatigue and disbelief. The general normality with which she had been treated- though normality was a term she used loosely- and the anti climax of her kidnapping that was absent of the ill treatment Christine had expected gave her a sense of loss that could not be considered sad in any way. To be unhappy, Christine felt that something had to have happened.

"I'm not unhappy," Christine replied after a prolonged thought. She swore that she had seen the corner of Erik's lip turn, as if ready to smile, though he was far too wary to give himself into such a vision of happiness.

"You will grow used to all of this."

"I know." And though she was doubtful of her accepting this place as her home, she supposed it would not take long at all to grow used to it.

"You may even one day be fond of it all," Erik continued, as if reading her mind. Christine shuddered slightly at the idea that perhaps this man could read her so clearly.

"Perhaps," she said with a small sigh. _Don't bet on it_. "Did you always intend to have those lessons with me?"

"The thought had occurred to me that I might be able to… cultivate you, yes."

"And I must have them? All the time?"

"Frequently, Christine, yes. Do you not enjoy singing?"

"It isn't that…" She trailed off, unsure on how to elaborate. "It simply seems a strange way to pass the time. You must have other things to do than teach me to sing."

"I have exhausted myself of all other trades," Erik said, that small smile appearing again.

"What other trades?"

"Art. Architecture. Magic."

"You perform magic?" Christine asked, a little confused at the idea. To her, a magician was a man with a tailcoat, a hat, and a rabbit. Erik did not seem to suit the image particularly well.

"Illusions, to be more specific. It was a trade that once did me quite well."

"How're you meant to make a living out of illusions?"

"That is a story for another time, perhaps, my dear. I am quite done with magic for now. Music is all that has preoccupied my time, you see."

"And me," Christine added, though without the bitterness that she had supposed she would have.

"You _are_ music, Christine, the sheer embodiment of it. From time to time I will perhaps find myself distracted, but your voice is the sole interest I have."

_Perhaps not the sole interest…_

"You will be great one day," Erik continued, taking hold of Christine's hands in his own, his excitement growing. "Now, you are quite exquisite, but with my tutelage I will ensure you are _great_. One day, you shall _rule the world_ with your voice."

At this, Christine sat a little straighter, her eyes widened slightly. One day implied that there was a limit to this situation. He could not indulge in this fantasy of grandeur without allowing her freedom from the house, even if that freedom would only come _one day_. Erik mistook the sudden thrill emanating from the girl as directed towards the music, and brought those small hands up to his lips and pressed a small kiss to her knuckles. Though Christine was sure she should have felt fear- revulsion, even- to the scene and the feel of those kisses, she could not summon such feelings. His excitement at the talk of music put her in such a mood of pity for him, and the way in which he kissed her hands was one of such worship that she could not put a stop to it. It would be like interrupting prayer.

"Such a well behaved girl," Erik murmured to himself, allowing himself the small pleasure of pressing the knuckle of one of Christine's hands to his jaw line, savouring that flesh upon flesh. "Only days ago, you were frightened to look at Erik! And now you let him touch you, kiss you. Did you think, Christine, such a thing would be when you came here only days ago?"

"No, Erik," Christine replied dutifully, quite mesmerised by his tone.

"Think, Christine! Think of how used to Erik you might become over the next few days, or the next few weeks. What you do not think possible now might well be!"

"You mean that I will love you?" Christine asked. Layers of her pity were wasting away at this thought, but he was quick to claim back that mild affection that would be better suited to a stray animal.

"Not love, Christine, I do not believe you could love Erik at all as dearly as he loves you. You do not want to love me, do you? No, you don't. But you will perhaps care for him- do you think you could? Right now I know that you still fear Erik, for he has done you great ill, for which he is eternally repentant! Perhaps though you will forgive him of that and come to care for him as one would care for their husband."

Christine did not realise she had shivered so violently at this idea, the thought of caring for him as a _husband_ sending waves of revulsion through her. As he noticed her shake, Erik looked up from Christine's hands with wide, almost child like eyes. _Oh, how can you treat him badly now? When he is bearing his soul… whatever soul he may have, that is._

"Perhaps, Erik," Christine said after a small while, and the words immediately softened Erik's childish fear and his lips turned once more as if to smile. Though she hated to admit it to herself, Christine had become quite fond of that small smile, if only because it meant that she had done well in preserving her health. While he smiled, he did not want to harm her, and when he did not want to harm her, Erik could be quite the dutiful servant to her. Just as he had declared he would be. Her hand was still gently pressed against his jaw, a fact that Erik seemed to realise at the same point it crossed Christine's mind. He placed the hand back in her lap, keeping his eyes heavily fixated on her face instead with an adoration that Christine would see frequently and still find herself confused by, until the very end.

"Such a very, very well behaved girl," Erik said, as if stumbling across the thought for the first time. His face suddenly turned into a mask of concern as he gazed over her face. "Why, Christine, you look all of a sudden quite tired. Did you sleep well last night?"

Christine shook her head, not wanting to reveal anything of her rebellious wreckage of the room that morning nor wanting to remember the events of that previous evening. _Has so much really happened in such a short space of time?_

"It is time, perhaps, that you should retire for a short while," Erik continued, rising to his feet while still keeping a gentle hold of Christine's hands, retreating so that once more only their fingertips touched, as if it were a new method of guiding her. "I shall have Mary organise your meals for later."

Once more, Christine nodded, feeling a lump form in her throat. They walked through the hallway and up the flight of stairs, not once speaking another word to each other. Christine held her breath as they reached her room, but once the door was opened she saw that the room had been restored to its former pristine nature; even the drapes had been fixed. She allowed herself to sigh in relief, which it seemed Erik took as an affirmation of her fatigue. He gestured her inside, nodding in a small bow as she moved past him and entered the room. With that, the door was closed behind her, and Christine was left once more by herself.

Christine looked down at her hands, realising that they were shaking almost horrifically, as if she had no control over them whatsoever. _Control? _What use was there in fancying the idea of control? She had none. She pressed those shaking hands to her face, stifling a shuddering sob as her eyes prickled with those all too familiar tears.


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N- FILLER! SO MUCH FILLER CHAPTER! SHORT FILLER CHAPTER! Forgive me, my beloveds, but had to make this chapter extra short so that I didn't have to turn it into a weird two-part kind of thing, which I really want to avoid doing. So please ignore the annoying filler/ set up nature of this chapter :P The next one shall be longer, I assure you! Would also like to quickly apologise for my last chapter as a few reviewers thought that it was the 'unmasking' scene of my story. Actually, it was a 'nearly unmasking' scene, I just kind of wrote that scene really badly. Big apologies, but hopefully that's cleared up :)**

Only a few days were left before the monthly visiting hours. Christine had made the decision that she wouldn't mention the visit to a single soul- she could barely conceive the panic that Mama Valerius would be under if she were to find out. Meg would most likely worry and though she loved her friends dearly, she did not suspect that she knew any of them closely enough to confide this secret with. Though she was certain in this secrecy, the thought occurred to Christine eventually that she had no means of travelling down to London where she knew that Erik was being kept. It would not be too difficult to catch the train, but Mama Valerius's paranoia had found its way into Christine's thoughts and she could not bear the idea of being alone for such a long distance.

The only other person that Christine had considered was Nadir. It was, after all, his job to somewhat care for her, though she did not suppose that travelling was part of the job description. Perhaps it was worth a shot…

"Why do you need to go to London?" Nadir asked a little groggily when she called. _Shit, probably should have waited until after ten in the morning… _

"Can you not ask? I'd rather just keep it a secret."

"Christine, you know is the sort of weird behaviour I was hired to keep a check on, right? Seriously, you have to tell me."

Christine paused, pressing a hooked finger to her lips as she thought. It seemed as if she would have to say.

"Hello? Are you still there?"

"Yes, yes, I'm sorry… look, if you're going to be busy then I can always ask someone else."

"You wouldn't have asked me if you had the vaguest plans in asking anyone else, we both know that Christine. What's the matter?"

She paused again. This stupid man would be the death of her.

"I just need to visit someone."

"Who do you know in London?" There was a short silence before Nadir sighed heavily. "You're not visiting _him_, are you?"

"I promised I would, Nadir, I can't go back on a promise."

"But it doesn't seem right, I thought-"

"I just need to visit him," Christine interrupted, a little too desperately. "Just to make sure he's okay. Can you take me?"

"Fine," Nadir replied after careful thought. "Fine, what time?"

They organised the last of the details before Christine put down the phone, feeling suddenly quite guilty for her abuse of Nadir's position. However, she decided it would do no good now to feel repentant as she knew that she had no intention of taking back her request. Christine fell back into her bed, staring at the ceiling with a sense of sudden calm. She was most definitely to visit Erik now, and that sense of certainty was a relief after the weeks she had spent considering her promise. In the end, it would seem ignoble not to keep it.

Eventually, after what seemed like positively hours of simply staring, Christine heard her phone ring and looked at the caller name. _Raoul_. She sighed with a hint of annoyance; it was not at all the fact that he called. In fact, Christine had grown rather used to his conversation and looked on it fondly. It was rather the fact that her moment of peace had been disturbed.

"Whatever happened to texting?" she asked once she accepted the call. "It requires less effort."

"Do you want me to hang up then?" Raoul retorted, the slightest laugh in his voice.

"No, this way you're paying. Is everything alright?"

"Yeah, Meg just asked me to call you about next Saturday."

_Oh, great…_ Christine thought, wincing. Meg had been planning a getaway to the beach where her cousin had bought a home for the summer. The cousin had already organised a holiday abroad and so the house was theirs to use. Though the plans had been made before Christine's return, she had been persuaded through a series of pleads, well meant threats and not-so-well-meant threats to come with them.

"What about it? I haven't forgotten, if that's what she's worried about, though I've tried my utmost."

"Even if you had forgotten, after all that effort made getting you to agree to go, we'd all be quite willing to kidnap you. No, she just wanted me to tell you that's there's been some changes to the car arrangements."

"These changes being…"

"You're in my car now." _Ah, of course… _"Jammes and Jack were meant to be in mine as well but they've decided to take the train down a day late, and Carla's changed her mind so she's taking your place in Paul's car."

"I hate organisation," Christine murmured, wrinkling her nose while trying to keep track of the people. "Fine, it wouldn't be the first time she's done this to me."

"What?"

"It doesn't matter. Sure you're alright with it?"

There was a pause that, while short, was all too noticeable.

"Of course," Raoul replied, stammering a little as if he too had realised the pause. "Must warn you, though, my taste in music is crap."

"Don't know why you're bringing it up, we're listening to my CDs."

"Ah, a good few hours of Bach and Debussy?"

"If you're nice I might treat you to Steps and Busted."

"I was going to offer the same thing," Raoul said, laughing now. "Sounds good. Ten o'clock alright?"

"Ten o'clock."

"Until then."

The call was cut, and for a few brief moments Christine listened to the abhorrent dial tone ringing in her ear. A three hour journey down to the beach alone in the car with Raoul. Meg certainly was sometimes the craftiest enemy Christine had ever encountered.


	13. Chapter 13

"He's really been quite a handful," the bubbly attendant said as she lead Christine down the hallway to the visiting room. "Personally, I haven't been able to get a peep out of him since he came."

"H-how does this actually work?" Christine asked a little timidly, looking about the hallway. It was still rather clinical, yes, but the softer blue tones of the colour scheme set her at ease.

"Visiting? Oh, no reason to look so nervous, love. You're all alone in there, there'll just be a few people watching in the other room. Just in case, you know?"

"I know." She knew all too well. "Are you going to be watching?"

"Lord knows I'd like to, I'd love to hear that man speak at least once, but I'm just an attendant. There's a couple of his psychiatrists and one guard, in case something happens. Which I'm sure it won't, of course. We just have a lot of protocol like that to follow."

"That's fine." Quite honestly, she already felt somewhat more at ease knowing this. They entered one of the rooms around the next corner, and Christine found herself quite surprised at the spacious area and the almost light hearted décor that did not seem befitting of an institution. That familiar light blue colouring, a sturdy, shiny wooden table and padded seats. Christine felt as if she had stepped into a school room again.

"You just take a seat, love. He's on his way now- and don't worry, they won't be peering at you for too long," the attendant added, nodding towards the wall that Christine had taken little notice of at first. It was mostly covered by a window that clearly showed three men watching them, though their attention had already begun to wane. "They're only here in case they find something of interest, I'm sure you'll be left in peace."

"Thank you," Christine said, quite grateful for the insight. It did seem, thankfully, far more private an affair than at the police station, despite the clear view that both parties would have of each other. The attendant flashed another quick smile towards Christine before disappearing down the hallway. For a few minutes, Christine was left alone, and she spent that time carefully scrutinising the room. However lovely she thought it was, considering the building, she could barely conceive the idea of Erik in such a place. He really was far too much of an anachronism to live in such a place.

Christine had taken her seat at last when the door was once more opened, catching both hers and the audience's attention. She briefly looked out of the corner of her eyes at them, and was settled by their formality. Quickly she returned her attention to Erik, who was followed by another young woman who had directed him inside. Christine felt a stab of pity for the poor woman who tried to stand so brave and formal, but managed to only shuffle and shiver with a slight sense of fear. Once Erik had taken a few steps into the room, the door was swiftly closed and the young woman was gone. He stood still for a while, his head not held with the same level of pride as Christine was so familiar with, but there was no shame in his stance. He was even bold enough to meet her eyes. Christine observed him for some time, taking in the details of his change from the last time they had met. Once again his mask covered half of his face, and he was in his usual attire that Christine had seen on days he desired comfort, a dark shirt without tie or cravat. The lack thereof made the paleness of his skin beneath almost disturbingly evident- it was as if his skin were made of paper.

"You're looking well," he murmured eventually, causing Christine to flinch slightly at the abrupt breaking of silence. He was quiet, as if tired. She nodded.

"I am," she said quietly, too scared to speak more boldly. "And you, Erik? How are you?"

He did not reply to this, instead moving slowly towards the table and taking the seat opposing Christine. She waited for him to speak, but he seemed to be more content with simply sitting in silence. At last the impatience wore on her.

"I know for a fact you've had enough silence to last you a lifetime," she said, surprising herself with the boldness of her chiding. "I'm sure we have plenty of things to say to each other, so I won't have you acting like a child."

"But you'll quite gladly take the patronisingly mothering role, will you?" Erik snapped, causing Christine to blush. She hated to admit to herself that she had taken to the silly habit, and decided on the spot to at least try and stop it.

"I just want you to talk to me," she said with a sigh.

"I am talking to you."

"You're telling me off," she corrected. "That's not talking to me. I just want to know how you are, how they've been treating you."

"You could simply ask them," Erik replied sharply, jerking his head slightly towards the window. Christine wrinkled her nose in disgust, shaking her head.

"Don't you think that I would have asked them already if I didn't want to hear it from you? Erik, you _wanted_ me to visit, and I have!"

They were quiet again as the two stared at each other, Erik seeming to muse on the situation for a few moments. Christine saw this, and her patience was restored as she awaited his carefully processed words.

"They are quite determined to motivate me into counselling, much like everyone else," he said slowly, still surveying Christine. "Strange, I thought, considering most residing here are not criminals. They ask me frequently about you. As if they might be able to discover something of use."

"The attendant told me you don't say anything," Christine noted.

"Not a word," Erik replied with a small sign of a smirk in the corner of his lips. "At least, to the psychiatrists."

"You speak to the other patients?"

"They speak to me," he said with a shrug. "Once in a while I shall reply."

"Why do they speak to you?"

"It's a madhouse," Erik replied bluntly, still smirking. "Only here would it make sense to trust a man in a mask more than a man with a clipboard."

"It's _not_ a madhouse, Erik, not like you're thinking."

"If that is what you choose to believe. But you did not come here to find out my opinions of this place."

"No, I came here to find out how _you_ are, but so far you've proven rather useless in that respect."

His smirk widened slightly as he stretched out his once again gloved fingers, inhaling deeply. It was a sign that Christine took as one of calm- he did not seem particularly distressed by his surroundings, even if he didn't seem particularly happy. Perhaps not the best reaction that she could have hoped for, but Christine was quite content in seeing him in such a manner. Her eyes flashed briefly towards the window, and to her surprise they were not being watched. In fact, the men seemed almost distracted, the guard looking up once or twice from his book and the psychiatrists looking at notes.

"If you really must know," Erik began again, his voice cool and smooth as it once had been, "they have attempted their best, but I won't say any of their methods work."

"Group therapy? The counselling?"

"For the most part. It really is quite useless. Though I must say they are quite effective in their methods of _calming_."

"Calming?"

"I will admit I was not as co-operative as they expected," Erik said with a small glint of rebellion in his otherwise serene eyes. "A quick sedative, of course, proved to work wonders."

"They drugged you?" Christine asked, a little aghast.

"The shock on your face tells me you underestimate just how _rebellious_ I can be, my dear. You will be glad to know, of course, that poor Erik has indeed learnt his lesson."

"He won't learn to speak to his doctors any time soon though, will he?"

"No, he won't," he replied, almost mischievously. "But how much more can I speak of captivity? You've wanted nothing more than to speak at me since you entered this room. I now give you permission to."

_Permission?_ Christine supposed that she should have been more annoyed or shocked at his authority, but had grown so used to it that she welcomed it as she would any other comment. She smiled and thought for a moment, wondering where to begin so that she would not cause offence or irritate him. It seemed the very last thing that he needed when he seemed to be at peace for the first time in possibly months. At last she settled, noting his now confused expression, and smiled a little brighter.

"I've joined the local theatre group," she said, though she realised it sounded positively childish. "It isn't much at all, I know, but it's the best I can do before I can go and… well, make something of myself." He did not respond immediately, and Christine bit her lip nervously. "They do musical theatre. I'm not sure, but I think it's _Oliver_ this year. A bit over done, I know, but it's a start."

"If it is the only way that you can keep yourself practised," Erik said with a mild strain in his voice. He did not seem to approve at all highly of Christine's low, local standards, though she could not care for that opinion. Where else had she to go?

"Not that I can really audition for much," Christine continued, trying to make light hearted conversation. "My friend's been going for such a long time, it wouldn't seem fair of me to try and compete with her."

"There is no need for such meekness," Erik said firmly. "You are more than talented enough to take on any role that an amateur theatre group can throw your way."

"Perhaps, but Carla really is _very_ good. I'm patient, I can wait my turn."

"_I_ am not patient, Christine. You _will_ be auditioning."

"Erik, you cannot tell me what to do from here. I will decide whether I audition or not."

"Yes. And you _will_ decide to audition."

"You're absolutely insufferable, you know?" Christine said exasperatedly, her eyes narrowing. Erik stared in return, torn between amusement at her sudden intolerance of him and determination to win this argument. The amusement won and drove him onwards in conversation.

"If you will not audition- which you _will_, I am certain- then you must at least promise me that you will exercise your voice."

"Yes, Erik."

"For at least an hour each time?"

"If you say so, Erik."

"Daily?"

That made her stop. Christine wrinkled her nose slightly in disapproval of the idea, folding her arms and wresting her elbows on the table.

"Erik, I do have a life outside of music. As hard as it may seem."

Erik tilted his head, as if genuinely confused about such an idea. Even when their minds had been diverted from more sombre things, and their openness bloomed, music had always been central to their lives for that year. Frequently he would ask her to sing, even if it were not in his music room. Even if they had no need for a lesson. In turn, she often asked him to play an instrument, or ask to hear him sing as well. Such an idea of music not remaining an integral part of her life seemed such a foreign idea that Erik could not help but be reduced to confusion.

"Oh? What is it that takes up so much of your time?"

"Well… oh, I can't be specific, Erik. Meg invites me over to her house all the time, I can't very well kick her out of the room so I can do scales."

"There is always an hour spare in one's day, Christine."

"I want time to _think_. Is that so bad? And besides, it's not just that. I go out sometimes. I get distracted."

"Where have you to go out?" Erik asked, his voice dimming a little. Christine saw that his eyes had lowered from her face. Instead, his gaze now rested comfortably at her hand, looking intently at that little gold band around her finger. The possessive nature of his tone suddenly made more sense.

"Places, Erik. I don't know. The park? Into town? I mean, next week a few of us are going down to the beach for a few days- these things happen, there are tonnes of places in the world to go out, I can hardly be specific about all of them."

"Who are 'a few of us'?"

Christine swallowed thickly. His voice had retreated back into a cold, calm tone again. Too calm, too cold. Even his eyes seemed to have clouded over a little.

"A few friends, Erik. I do have them."

"I'm under no delusions about that," he said, still staring at that ring. "Christine, who are these friends of yours, might I ask?"

"The usual ones," she replied, feeling her cheeks flush in a mixture of embarrassment and anger.

"Go on."

"Meg. Carla. Not many of us."

"Christine, you're keeping quiet over something," Erik said knowingly, finally lifting his eyes once more to hers. "Have you any young boys coming on this little jaunt."

"Well… yes, Erik. But I don't see how that matters. Carla's boyfriend, a few more couples. It's no big deal."

"You seem rather apprehensive, Christine. I simply want to know the company that my wife shall be keeping over the period of a few days while I am unable to do anything about it."

"That's really none of your business!"

"I can read you like an open book, you know? There's barely a secret you can keep from me, and certainly you cannot keep them for long."

It seemed just like a trick he would use. Christine felt her breath catch in her throat as she tried to force herself to say something clever, or at the very least authoritive, just to get him to stop scratching at the mystery in attempts to unveil something. Why did he have to make a big deal out of _everything_? For all he knew, it was just a simple little jaunt with friends. He had often enough allowed her to be alone with Richard as company. Christine stiffened slightly. Perhaps he had grown wary because of it.

"Fine," she said irritably, throwing her hands up in defeat. "Fine. There _are _boys going. And girls. It's really no big deal. You'll know most of them anyway, you _did_ find out enough about me to know who they all are."

"I'll let that comment pass," Erik said slowly, his eyes narrowing. "Though I will point out that you said _most of them_. Pray, Christine, who else is there for me to know?"

"Phillipe's brother has moved into the city," Christine replied as matter-of-factly as she could, though she could feel herself blushing deeper. "He's made friends with everyone so he's going as well."

There was a pause that hung in the air almost threateningly. Christine kept her eyes steadily focused on Erik's, refusing to let him win this little battle. His paranoia had forced her to speak against her will and for this she could not forgive him. The asylum had made her hope that she would still be able to exert _some_ control, have some level of authority over him. Of course she wouldn't be able to! No matter where he was and no matter what she said, Erik would always have that control that she so desperately wanted. He would allow her to think for a single moment that _she_ held the power, that _she _could speak and act as she willed. Then he would snatch away that hope as if he had been dangling keys in front of a baby.

"Remember, Christine," he said slowly, "that the ring you're wearing means that you are _my wife_. God does not look kindly on infidelity."

"I'll let _that_ comment pass," Christine said through gritted teeth. She pressed the back of her hand against her cheek in attempts to cool down and felt her skin burn beneath her touch. Whether it was anger or embarrassment that overwhelmed her the most, she was unsure. "Obviously my social life offends you, so I won't speak of it again."

"I want to make sure you aren't being silly out there."

"That's my business, Erik."

"And mine too."

"I'll keep you updated," said Christine with a sigh. "I won't do anything silly.

"Do you promise that, Christine?"

"I promise."

"You will behave well? Sensibly?"

"Yes, Erik, I promise." He smiled lightly in approval, content with her promise. "I thought you might've grown tired of giving me orders."

"You certainly haven't grown out of taking them. I pray you never do"

"This isn't exactly helping _their_ impression of you," Christine said, nodding towards the window.

"There's nothing more they can do to me, I'm already here."

"I'm sure eventually you'll be able to leave."

As soon as the words came out of her mouth, Christine stiffened and her eyes widened. _Why did I say that? He _can't_ leave. I don't _want_ him to leave._ Erik realised the effect that the words had had on her, and any hint of a smile he had previously shown was now gone. The enormity had struck him too. There was always a chance of leaving. This was not a prison sentence- this was a correctional institute. To leave, one must simply be… corrected. Though the thought was some hope to him, to Christine it seemed frightening.

"And yet you don't want that to happen." Matter of factly. Clipped. Irritated.

"No," Christine replied, though her voice trembled a little. "No, I don't want that. I want you to be safe and away and protected from everyone you're scared of. I want you locked up."

"Everyone I have ever been frightened of is dead, Christine."

"You are frightened of everyone, though. If you weren't you wouldn't still be wearing that God awful mask."

"Don't forget yourself, Christine."

"Am I not allowed to talk about it anymore? You let me before, what makes now any different?"

Erik was silent, unable to think of a real reason to give to her. They continued to look at each other for a short time before Christine saw the evident weakening of his posture. Finally he gave in and sunk his head into his hands, remaining still and morose. He often did so when he had been repentant, though he did not utter a single sound that would liken this to such times. Christine reached out and gently pulled away his hands, entwining her fingers with his. She did not mean for it to seem so intimate, only meaning to comfort, but did not retreat when he grasped her hands tightly and raised them to kiss each knuckle gently.

"Poor Erik," she murmured.


	14. Chapter 14

"Christine."

She looked up from her lap, a sudden rush of blood leaving her dizzy. Christine could not count the hours she had spent on the bathroom floor, the door locked. But it did not seem as if she would have long left.

"Christine, you must come out now. It is time for your lesson."

"I don't want to," Christine sobbed, wiping her eyes from tears. "I'm _sick _of your lessons! You don't do anything but shout at me all the time!"

"Come out of there, Christine, I won't ask you again."

A sudden urge to throw whatever she could grab at the door struck Christine, though she refrained and instead continued to weep bitter, angry tears. A month of those dreaded lessons had gone by and though Erik had been patient with her at first, only chiding her every so often for her mistakes, he had grown far more involved in the lessons than she could ever have guessed. Not only did he chide her, but he forced her to repeat a bar of notes over and over, he would shout when she would repetitively make mistakes, and more than once he had threatened her- not violently, perhaps, though he would hold her wrist _too_ tightly while telling her of all the little privileges that could be lost. Finally the embarrassment and anger welled to a point where Christine had decided she would _not_ be subjected to those lessons again.

"If you don't step out of that room, Christine, I shall open this door myself."

"You wouldn't dare! You don't know what sort of state I'm in!"

"I should hardly think anything offensive."

"What if I said I was in the bath?"

"I know very well you're not, Christine, so stop being so silly."

Quickly Christine scrambled from the floor and towards the bath tub, turning the tap on full flow.

"Now I am!"

Erik audibly sighed from the other side of the door, making Christine smile slightly. It was not an angry sound, merely put out. It was the best she could ask for.

"I expect you downstairs in an hour," he said, almost sounding resigned. "I won't spare another minute after that."

With that he left, and the bedroom door was closed behind him. Christine stared at the bathroom door for a moment before she returned her attention to the water. She had meant it entirely as an act of rebellion, but perhaps a bath would be perfect to relax her after a short lived cry. After looking at the door one more time, as if to check that _he_ had not somehow found his way into the room, Christine checked the water, balancing the levels of cold and hot. Mama Valerius had never been what one would call poor, but had always remained certain that the reason behind this was because she was never a waster. If Christine ever had felt like a bath at home, the water had always been scarce, barely reaching her navel. At least here, money didn't seem to be an issue.

The water was left to cool for five minutes while Christine undressed before the mirror. She was tempted to look away but had a certain sense of morbid curiosity as she found herself revealed. Faint bruises lined her wrists and shoulders, the two spots where Erik would return to again and again when he grew impatient or angry. She shivered slightly and turned, looking at the sharper angle of her hips and ribs. It was not particularly prominent, and Christine had not been neglecting the meals given to her, but the nervous energy that constantly ran through her made it impossible to avoid the weight loss. For a brief moment, it scared her, but what use was there in panicking further? Christine moved towards that ever so inviting bath and stepped in, watching her ankles flush a deeper pink as the heat of the water hit her.

Christine admired the sudden sense of security that washed over her as she sank into that large bathtub, its high walls seeming like a wonderful place to hide. Her breath echoed as if she were alone in the local swimming baths rather than in a bathroom, and the feeling of isolation put a small smile on her lips. Of course, she had been left alone many a time since she first arrived, but somehow with the protection of a _locked door_, it felt better.

It was far too easy to think in this silence. The best way that she could think of spending her thoughts was how to avoid the lesson that she knew Erik intended her to take when he returned. The initial idea when it had been brought forward a month ago had been strange but admittedly, Christine had grown somewhat fond of the idea. Anything to distract her from her impending birthday. Though the idea of the _proposal_ had not been spoken of since Erik had first mentioned it, Christine thought of it almost daily. Her fear had grown, and yet so had her resignation. In the time that she had been in the house, there had been little to no chance of escape, and so there was nothing else to do but accept what was to be.

_Perhaps it won't be so bad?_

She shook her head at this thought and plunged her head under the water, as if she might be able to block out the sound of her own thoughts. It worked for a short while before she sat up again for a much needed breath. _Of course it would be bad!_ she told herself. Married to a man who has kidnapped you? Who you don't love?

_But he loves you_.

That was certainly a fact that Christine could not deny. It was a sad sort of love, she thought, but one that she could not help but see. At first, Christine had thought him simply mad, or perhaps thought that he only said such things to calm her or make sense of their situation. There were times at which she could quite easily believe he hated her, loathed her even, when he shouted at her for her mistakes and her tantrums, as he called them, but those times always passed eventually. They almost always ended with him on his knees before her, staring with the most sombre expression he could create.

Christine shivered slightly at the memory and plunged under the water once more. Those displays of affection were almost as bad as the displays of anger. When she emerged again, Christine tried to clear her mind of those images that now consumed her; Erik kissing her hands, his body trembling and his eyes on the verge of tears. To see a full grown man reduced to such a level was something Christine had barely heard of, let alone seen. It was, to say the least, petrifying.

Minutes passed and finally peace washed over her. The warm water embraced her in a way that felt needed, warming away the goose bumps that had seemed like a second skin over the past weeks. As if all her troubles could be washed away in one simple hour.

_How long do I even have left…_

She had little to no idea how long she had spent in the bath, and had no way of knowing how long it would be before she was forced from the room. A mild shiver of fear ran down her spine as she imagined it; he would not allow her a moment longer than the hour he had allowed. Christine knew for a fact he would willingly break down that door and drag her out kicking and screaming if it so suited him. Slowly, she started shifting her limbs, preparing for the cool air to hit her.

When she stood up, Christine sighed irritably as she realised the air was not nearly as cold as she had expected it to be, telling her that most of her time had already gone. _Great_. She drained the bath and stood with the large, thick towel provided wrapped around herself awkwardly. Her movements were slow, methodical, as if it each movement were the first she had ever made. Finally she reached for the bathrobe hung on the back of the door. It was strange how much had been provided to her, Christine had thought, but in that moment could not care. The robe really was impossibly comfy and for a while Christine considered simply resting there, once more on the floor, if only to sleep. She lazily began drying her hair as she heard the oncoming footsteps.

"Christine." He was calling out before he had even knocked on the door. "Christine, I have given you your hour." Erik began knocking impatiently on the bathroom door, as if that would somehow put across his point in a clearer manner.

"I'm not ready," Christine said a little shakily.

"I gave you an hour. It's time to come out."

"I said I'm not ready!"

"Come out of there, Christine, I've given you long enough. Do not make me open this door."

"You wouldn't dare!"

As if to prove his point, the handle began rattling almost violently. The sound caused Christine to flinch and she launched forward, holding onto the handle to try and keep it still, but feeling it move beneath her palm. She unlocked the door and at the sound of the click, the rattling stopped. A small padding of footsteps told Christine that Erik had stepped back, waiting for her to exit, and she did so carefully as if she were entering a tiger enclosure. As she stepped out, Christine surveyed Erik warily, waiting for his anger to strike her.

Instead, he seemed frightened.

A small smile reached Christine's lips when she realised that she frightened him, if only for a minute. The bath robe was thick, padding her out to twice her usual size, and was long enough to reach her calves. He had certainly seen her far less covered before in those posh dresses he had her wear, but it seemed that the vulnerability of this outfit struck him. Christine knew that she should have felt somewhat more awkward considering the way his eyes scanned her briefly, but suddenly felt safe. _Powerful_.

"I'm not taking a lesson," Christine said quietly, testing this newfound strength. His eyes sharply turned back to hers when she spoke, though the anger had not returned yet.

"You'll take the lesson once you're dressed appropriately," Erik replied calmly. "And you _will_ get dressed."

"Well I can't very well do that while you're here, can I?"

"I'm not leaving."

"You're not watching me!"

"I'm not leaving _yet_," Erik corrected, smirking slightly. Christine realised the sudden lack of control she had over her emotions and her fear was plain to see. She composed herself again but folded her arms, requiring that barrier.

"Then what do you want?" she asked, barely above a whisper for fear her voice would crack if she spoke louder.

"It isn't a matter of what I want, you've been all too clear that there is something that _you_ want."

"You mean there's something that I _don't_ want."

"If that is how you want to phrase it," he said, moving towards the bed and sitting on the edge of it, staring at Christine with his elbows rested on his knees. "Seeing as you are so determined to argue with me, Christine, I simply wish to know what it is that upsets you so."

Christine paused, her brow furrowed in confusion. He seemed to be so… reasonable. At least, as reasonable as she had come to find Erik to be. He watched her, awaiting for an answer of some sort. Seeing the slight tightening of his knuckles- still always covered, she noted- Christine quickly allowed herself to say whatever her mind forced from her.

"You're always shouting at me," she blurted out, blushing. "I can't do anything right. I'll sing for- for a moment and then I have to repeat it, over and over again until I either I get it marginally right or you get bored and shout some more at me. And you're too technical, I can't understand a word you tell me- I didn't take music lessons before I came here, how am I meant to know what octave I'm in? You expect too much of me! You think that because you heard me sing _once_, I can do anything you want me to do but I _can't_!"

Erik was silent as Christine caught her breath, her cheeks now a bright red as embarrassment found her. She sunk into herself slowly, her shoulders hunched and her hands tightly gripping her elbows. Those eyes continued to burn into her and eventually Christine could barely stand the silence.

"I'll get dressed," she whimpered, bowing her head. "I promise, if you go now I'll get dressed. I'll be downstairs in minutes. I promise. I won't complain."

"Ah, but it's far too late for that, Christine, isn't it?"

"No, it's not," she replied, a little firmer now. "I'll come down for the lesson. You can shout at me as much as you like. I won't complain anymore, I promise."

Erik stood and within a flash he was in front of her, causing Christine to look up with a sharp intake of breath. He never ceased to surprise her with his catlike movements, silent and swift. She felt her lip tremble as she tried to speak but could not muster the words, though she knew she would only be able to repeat herself. The trembling stopped once she felt the soft pressure of gloved fingertips against her throat, against her jaw line, moving lightly towards the hollow behind her ears. Christine shivered, closing her eyes and holding her breath. It only seemed to spur him further though as the pressure applied became deeper, the leather feeling softer than she expected.

"I don't want these arguments again, Christine."

She nodded in reply, swallowing thickly. Even in this moment of confusion, she could hear that his voice was somehow deeper, huskier than before.

"You promise me, Christine? You will continue to attend your lessons _without fuss_?"

"I promise," she croaked, her brows knit in concentration as she forced herself to speak.

Then, as quickly as it had come, the touch was gone. Christine opened her eyes and once more the room was empty. She waited, looking about the room and catching her breath as if the emptiness around her was only an illusion. Upon finding herself secure in the fact that she was indeed alone, Christine moved towards the dresser and pulled out a dress- _any dress_, she thought to herself- putting it on swiftly before checking her reflection briefly in the mirror. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes were bright, though surrounded by now a deep tiredness. Though she was now eager to leave her bedroom, the reason to which she was unsure, Christine also noted the still damp hair that she immediately set to drying.

Feeling somewhat more primped and prepared, Christine left the room into that still foreign hallway. She had certainly had time to be used to it, but never quite had become familiar with the grand structure. It was still, she admitted to herself, quite beautiful, but hardly welcoming. As always the house remained silent and Christine was at peace as she descended the staircase. She had half expected Erik to be there waiting for her, considering his determination, but as per usual, she was to enter that music room of his alone and without guidance. Not that she particularly cared about this. The music room was the only room occupied as frequently as her bedroom.

Erik already waited quite patiently, his back turned to the doorway. He did not turn when Christine entered, instead remaining by the book cases where he surveyed the many librettos, though he seemed to notice her sudden presence as he did straighten a little in his posture.

"Come here," he called, hardly needing to do so as Christine had already begun to move towards him. "I want you to pick one of them."

"I don't know most of them," Christine said, a little daunted as she looked up towards the stacks upon stacks of books.

"Then look. Choose whatever seems the sweetest to you."

"I can't read music very well, Erik, you know I can't."

"Then just pick one at random," he said, beginning to look irritable and so Christine chose to not argue on it any longer. She only briefly scanned the books before selecting one at random, hoping that it would appease him. It was not particularly thick and so perhaps, she thought, the lesson would be over much quicker than when he brought out such horribly long arias. It looked simply enough- the title was even in English! Erik had once said that the English were not renowned for their intricate melodies. He took the book from her and scanned the pages, nodding lightly in approval. "Sit."

Now, that certainly surprised her.

"Sit?"

"Yes, Christine, sit. Over in the arm chairs."

Christine looked over at the seats he had indicated, though remained standing.

"How am I to sing over there?"

"You won't." His back was turned to her again as he moved towards the piano and so he did not see Christine's look of surprise.

"Then why am I here?"

"To listen, Christine. If you will not sing, then you shall at least learn to appreciate the art I am training you for."

He said no more on the subject, sitting at the piano and flicking through the pages until he found what it seemed he was looking for. By this point, Christine had already sat down, frightened to disobey him at all now that his mood had calmed so considerably. She straightened her skirt nervously, as if preparing for a _real_ performance, despite the fact that she knew very well it was only a minor detour from their usual lessons. Tomorrow, everything would return to normal. _Normal?_

The moment the music began, Christine sank deeper into her seat, taken over. A slight tinge of guilt hit her as she realised the complexity of the music she had chosen, but this was washed away quickly as she realised the skill with which Erik played. Of course, he had played such melodies before; she could hardly call the things that he forced her to sing simple in any way. Yet she had always been singing, and unable to listen quite so intently to what it was that he was playing. Now, as she listened, it seemed as if he were playing with four hands rather than two!

It continued on and on, and Christine began to realise that he was no longer playing the music that was on the sheet. He had tried long enough with it, but finally the pages ran out, and he did not seem to wish to stop. She did not speak to him as the melody began to run off and become something different, something of his own mind, as she did not dare to stop such a tune. The original libretto had been one of great anger, such as she had heard only once or twice before. It was powerful, loud, and oh so complex. Now the music remained angry and powerful, yet… different.

Minutes passed and still Erik continued. Christine became somewhat concerned, unable to place the reason why. She felt tears sting in her eyes as if the music itself were screaming at her for some wrongdoing she could not explain.

"Erik," she whispered, too frightened to speak loudly but far past the point of keeping herself reserved and silent. Still, he did not hear, and continued playing note after note. "Erik?" she asked, a little louder now. However sure she was though that she was audible, Erik did not stop, nor did he even turn.

The music continued, angrier with each note. Christine could not help but wonder to herself who would write such music. She barely even knew such music existed! Music was just the sort of thing you listened to on the radio, or danced to. This was pure emotion compiled into notes. And it _burned._

"Erik!" She did not realise she had screeched the word so loudly until Erik did stop, too abruptly, leaving the silence ringing in their ears. He did not turn to her, but the stiffened nature of his posture told Christine that something was wrong. She let out a small sob, not realising that she was close to tears. "I don't want to listen to anymore music, Erik," Christine continued, her voice cracking. "I'll sing anything you like, I swear, and I won't complain at all, just don't play me that music anymore, okay?"

Slowly, ever so slowly, Erik rose from the piano bench and turned to her. His jaw was set firmly, as if to hold himself back, though his eyes were wide with a familiar fear. The same fear Christine saw every time that he felt he had gone a step too far.

"I really, really promise this time," Christine said, standing as well. She wiped a hand across her eyes to wipe away any tears that might have fallen, "I learnt my lesson, Erik, I really have. Please, just don't play that again."

"You must leave me now, Christine." The words were slow and calculated, and coupled with the serious intent in Erik's features, Christine found herself more frightened than ever.

"There's nothing more to listen to?"

"Christine, go."

"What happened? Why was that-"

"You must go now!" Erik said loudly and firmly, not particularly shouting but his tone was authoritive enough to make Christine step back smartly, clutching her elbows tightly as if to hold herself together. She nodded quickly and left the room, refusing to look back. The door was closed behind her, though she did not remember closing it, and despite the fact that it was still light outside, Christine ran to her room and dove under the covers.

It was something childish she had not done in years, since even before her parents had died. When something had frightened her, her father had taught her to simply hide away and keep her hands over her ears, to block out whatever thoughts were there to frighten her. It had only been a way to keep the monsters at bay when the lights went out.

She would have done anything in that moment to have her father there, if only to tell her how to keep these monsters at bay.


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N- This chapter is awkward. Annoyingly awkward. Which is awful because I've kind of been looking forward to writing this chapter for AGES… still, we all have to have off days, right? Hopefully the next chapter will flow a hell of a lot better! Apologies for the quality, but do enjoy in any case**

**I would also like to quickly thank my anonymous reviewer, the first anonymous reviewer I think I've had since I joined this website!**

Rustling through her bag, Christine swore a little too loudly. Raoul arched an eyebrow and could not help but smile a little at her all too humorous angst.

"What's the matter?"

"I forgot my travel pills," she replied, pushing the hair back from her face. "You don't mind keeping the air conditioning on, right? Much warmer than this and I'll end up redecorating your car."

"Pleasant," Raoul laughed. "Though seriously, don't redecorate. It's not my car, Phillipe's leant it to me for the week."

"He got a pretty good upgrade them" Christine said appreciatively, looking about with a deeper level of interest than before.

"You saw his last car?"

"He drove a few of us around…" She trailed off, remembering the day he had driven her. She shook her head and smiled. "Plus he was always driving past the school. It's how all the girls began to notice him."

"The legion of admirers? Yeah, he wouldn't stop telling me about them on the phone whenever he called. You'd have thought he was some sort of Brad Pitt figure."

"Actually, he kind of was," Christine admitted with a shrug.

"But I'm sure you were _far_ too mature and sensible to go for that?"

"I'm allowed a little bit of shallow indulgence." Despite herself, Christine could feel a heavy blush forming in her cheeks as she said it. "I was only young."

"You were seventeen."

"Which will seem so much younger in ten years."

Raoul laughed, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. The motorway was surprisingly empty, only a few cars on the road to contend with, though all of them so slow that they drove past with ease. Christine turned her head towards the window, hoping to hide her embarrassment, taking a passing interest in the family they had just overtaken.

"I'm just guessing you're not still indulging, then?"

"Why'd you ask?"

"I'm just a little curious."

"Well, you shouldn't be. It's rude. And I'm not."

"Shame, I would have liked to see Miranda get worked up about something."

"That girl could keep her cool in the middle of a house fire. Hopefully the nieces and nephews will inherit that."

"I think you're a few steps ahead of them there."

"You're joking, right? Have you not seen those two together? They're gonna get married. I'm absolutely sure about it."

"I still think you're planning ahead," Raoul said, shaking his head and rolling his eyes. Christine clucked her tongue loudly, frowning theatrically in mock judgement of him.

"Raoul, your faith in young love is quite disturbing."

"I have no problems with young love, but I've never seen my brother as the type to actually get married."

"Miracles happen. He's absolutely crazy for her."

"They're both absolutely crazy," he laughed. "Didn't know you took such interest in other people's affairs."

"I just like to see people happy." Christine turned her head once more to Raoul, her head a little dizzy after staring for so long at the passing road. "I'm bored of talking about your brother."

"And there was me thinking he was the most singularly interesting person in the world," Raoul said tauntingly. "What _do_ you wanna talk about then?"

Christine thought for a moment, placing a finger on her lips and looking at the ceiling.

"Stuff, I guess."

"That's specific."

"Well, fine then. You've been here for a year now, right? What do you think of the city?"

"That's a little inane," he laughed, but did not protest further. "It's okay. Well, more than okay, everyone's been a hell of a lot more accommodating than I'd expected."

"You were in Paul's class, right?"

"Yeah, I was. We were partnered up actually on a project, that's how I sort of met everyone; we started hanging out a bit and I went over to organise the project. That was when he told me to not mention you, Meg was coming over for a visit and was bound to strike up conversation. She does that with everyone."

"Did she not bring me up at all?"

"Not once, actually. Too painful, I guess. I mean, I knew you two were friends after Paul kept me up to date, but she didn't mention you until they arrested that guy. After that, no one could shut her up."

Christine pushed past the _that guy_ comment and smiled a little.

"Kept you up to date? Now this I've got to hear."

"It wasn't really anything much, he just said that you'd been close friends. I got the rest of the information from the newspapers."

"That's both cool and kinda creepy. Mostly creepy."

"If you want to talk about creepy, seeing you in the flesh was rather odd," Raoul admitted. "Honestly, I felt a bit out of the blue; I knew stuff about you but I didn't _know_ you, unlike everyone else. It's like meeting a celebrity or something."

"Well, I hope I lived up to your expectations," Christine laughed, looking back towards the road, a little amused. Raoul did not reply, his brow furrowed slightly as they continued driving.

They were left in silence for a while, perhaps ten minutes, in which time Christine felt as if she would drift off to sleep again. Every time she felt her thoughts becoming less sharp, though, a familiar masked visage appeared in her mind and jolted her back to reality. She felt herself grow colder as the face seemed to judge her more and more. Of course, she knew that it was only her conscience talking, telling her this was _wrong_, immoral, that she should not be alone with this boy. But the vivid nature of those thoughts made her think for a split second that somehow Erik had found a way back into her head.

"Oh great," Raoul muttered, looking a little put out. "I'll be surprised if it doesn't start raining by the time we get up there."

Christine looked ahead and saw the clouds that covered the skies. They did not look violent or dark, but they certainly weren't particularly summery. She wrinkled her nose at the sight and sighed, resting her head on the window.

"Meg's gonna drag us onto the beach," she groaned. "Sun or no sun."

"Quite glad I brought layers now." Raoul looked over to Christine and could not help but laugh when he saw the look of mild fear. "Let me guess, you didn't?"

"It's summer, why would I bring a jumper?" Christine murmured, a little put out by his laughter. He changed the topic quickly, though, and they spent the next hour with very little in the way of what Christine would consider deep conversation, but it passed the time nonetheless.

As they approached the destination, the clouds became thicker, though still white enough to assure there wasn't a spot of rain. It wasn't particularly bad weather, perhaps, but Christine could not help but shiver slightly at the thought of leaving the car. _Not the best day to wear shorts…_ They saw that the other car had already arrived at the small house they were to spend their time in, and Meg already waited at the doorway with a small bag over her shoulder. She beamed brightly when Raoul and Christine left the car and ran forward, pulling at Christine's arm before she could fetch her bags.

"Nope! You two are late, we were meant to be down at the beach half an hour ago!"

"It's only just gone lunch, Meg, the beach isn't going to close down any time soon."

"Everyone else already left! I want to _go_!" Meg whined childishly, putting on a face that Christine could not help but give into.

"Fine," she conceded, "but just give me two seconds to get a scarf at least. Some of us didn't dress for this."

Meg released her arm, winking when she saw that Raoul's back was turned. Ignoring her, Christine found her bags in the back seat and started searching for the scarf she knew very well was tucked irritatingly beneath all her other possessions. _Mental note: don't trust myself to pack ever again_. When she finally found it, Christine grimaced at how flimsy it was; Meg had given it to her years ago as a birthday present, and had always had more of a sense of fashion than practicality when it came to gifts. She wrapped it clumsily around her neck, hoping it would do.

"Here." Christine jumped slightly as the sudden voice came from behind her, but smiled softly when she turned as Raoul placed a jacket over her shoulders. "You're just lucky I came prepared."

She moved to reply, but before a word could come out Meg had already taken hold of her arm again, beginning to chatter on about their own journey. They listened attentively, smiling where appropriate and laughing when needed, always appearing interested. Christine could not help but admit to herself that it was a welcome distraction, however inane the conversation. It left her at least a short amount of time to control herself, and to remember the vague promises she had made. Shoving her hands deep into the jacket pockets, Christine rubbed her thumb lightly across the gold ring.

Though the sun did not shine as brightly as they had hoped, the spirits did not seem to be dampened. Each of her friends smiled and Christine found the happiness, the sense of freedom, infectious. She could not help but laugh alongside each of them at the most petty of things. It was only at this time that Christine realised it had seemed a lifetime since she had truly been free in such a manner, without people acting particularly cautious around her. At least, any sense of cautiousness they displayed was unnoticeable. Perhaps it was the childishness with which they acted through the hours, the conversation never reaching a particularly intellectual level, and the activities were nothing more than games of chase or building sandcastles. It certainly was the easiest way to forget all the scarier aspects of life.

Hours passed in this similar fashion with little regard for what anyone would call _serious matters_. The light still flooded the beach as if the atmosphere refused to accept any sort of gloom or darkness. One by one they collapsed in exhaustion, still laughing away as if they had no control. The conversations split and Christine found herself most intent on listening to Carla's boasts about the theatre classes they had, and of her confidence in auditions in October.

"The director told me himself I was the most theatrical of the class," she said proudly, grinning from ear to ear. "I mean, of course, I know Christine's _far_ better than me, but I'm certain I'll be getting the part of Nancy."

"I forget," Raoul said lightly, his smile almost as false as Carla's. "Which one's Nancy again?"

"Duh, she's Bill Sikes' girl. The tart with a heart."

"So she's a whore?"

"Basically, yeah." The fact that she was still grinning proudly almost made Christine laugh aloud, though she maintained a certain level of control and only bowed her head, biting her lip.

Carla continued the conversation in such a manner, ignorant of anyone's reaction, instead concentrating solely on her own excitement. Eventually, the shrill laughter became too much and Raoul stood, excusing himself with a passive excuse of a need for _fresh air_. Luckily for him, Christine had been the only person listening. She looked briefly towards Carla once more, but the girl was absorbed, and so she offered the same lame excuse and ran after the boy.

"You can't very well just leave me to have my brain melted," she said in mock anger when Raoul was within earshot. He laughed unapologetically.

"It's a dog eat dog world out there, every man for himself."

"I'll remind you of that when she has you trapped and offers you tickets for the show."

"Eh, she still mightn't get the part yet."

"She will," Christine said, rolling her eyes. Carla had done nothing but remind them that she was a regular lead.

"Well, you can sing, right? Just try really hard and save us all the trouble of coming up with excuses not to watch, okay?"

"Afraid I can't. Dog eat dog world out there, remember?"

Raoul pulled a face, poking out his tongue, and in response Christine playfully punched his arm. Still smiling, Raoul grabbed her wrist and pulled her towards him, wrapping his arm around her shoulders. Christine ducked her head into his shoulder as a light gust of wind blew about the sand, savouring the warmth that he provided. She hadn't realised there was a chill in the air until she had the comparison.

They continued walking a few yards along the beach until Raoul guided them up the dock overlooking the sea. The water lapped at the wooden pillars and beams separating them from an unwanted swim and the scent of the salt was almost overpowering.

"I don't even remember the last time I came to the beach," Christine mused aloud, looking out at the vast waters.

"I don't remember the last time I _enjoyed_ coming to the beach," Raoul replied, his nose wrinkled slightly as he thought. "Family holidays just don't seem to be the same as this."

"The de Chagnys going on beach holidays? I thought you guys were way too posh for that."

"Maybe for your idea of a beach," he said, grinning. "Of course, when I say a beach, I mean on our private islands. One of the _many_ private islands. That we bought from foreign royalty."

"Stop taking the mick," Christine said, nudging him in the rib. "Anyway, if you had those islands I'd have much rathered we went to one of them."

"And I'd much rather be here."

"Nutter."

They stopped, having reached the end of the walkway, turning to each other with a shy smile. Christine felt the blush in her cheeks rising again, but said nothing that would let him think she had noticed. She noticed that Raoul on the other hand seemed perfectly collected, and she envied him enough to think passingly about pushing him off into the sea. The thought passed quickly when he reached out and tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear.

"If it's any consolation," he began quietly, "I think you'd make a far better whore than Carla."

"You know, you're really quite a hopeless romantic."

They both laughed slightly, but stopped abruptly, as if they had only been laughing out of necessity. The sounds of their friends were now distant, overpowered by the sound of the waves lightly lapping and, at least for Christine, a consistent drumming in her ears. Raoul's arm was still wrapped around her shoulder and dropped slowly around her waist, his other arm entrapping her. For a brief moment the drumming in her ears stopped, and Christine held her breath. She saw his face lower slightly…

The image was quickly replaced with Erik's.

"No," Christine murmured, leaning her cheek against Raoul's chest to avoid looking at him directly. "I can't."

"Did I do something wrong?"

"No."

"Then what's the matter?"

"Nothing."

"Christine," he sighed, releasing his grip on her waist only to have her grasp his hands almost desperately. "I'm sorry- I know I shouldn't-"

"There's no reason you shouldn't," she interrupted a little irritably. "I just… I don't know…"

The breeze whipped around them again, tousling both their hair until neither could clearly see the other, though neither clearly looked. Christine bit her lip, thinking of something to say to ease the moment. She could hardly mention Erik, though it was the only reasoning she could give.

"Do you want to go back?" Raoul offered.

"No."

"Did you want to carry on walking then?"

"I don't know."

"What _do_ you want?"

"I don't know!"

Another slightly stronger breeze hit them. Christine found herself momentarily blinded as her hair was blown about in front of her eyes. She barely realised at first that her scarf had freed itself and flew above their heads for a brief moment before flying out a few yards into the water. When she saw the sight, Christine could not help but gasp aloud, uttering a short 'Oh!' of surprise as she saw it flutter away. There was barely time to react any more severely than this, though, before her hands were abandoned and Raoul disappeared into the waters.

"Raoul!" Christine shrieked, obviously catching the attention of those further along the beach as within moments they all came running up towards the dock. She remained still, staring as Raoul disappeared and reappeared behind small waves as he made his way towards the now perfectly soaked scarf.

"What happened?" Meg asked, though was almost cancelled out by the sound of the boys all jeering at the act.

"My scarf blew into the water," Christine said weakly, still staring at the water. "I don't know why, he just jumped in to get it."

"Bravo!" Meg yelled, clapping as her attention turned to Raoul as well. They all watched with either interest or excitement, cheers becoming more prominent when finally Raoul turned around, the scarf quite obviously held in his hand.

Seeing him turn around, Christine felt her mind go quite suddenly blank. She could think of nothing other than her purest instinct, and ran back down the dock towards the sand where Raoul would emerge in only a few moments. That same, haunting image that had come to her mind time and time again left Christine in those few minutes, dimmed to the point where she could barely remember it. She only stood on the wet sand, waiting, a small nervous smile playing on her lips.

As Raoul found his feet and began trudging through the knee deep water, Paul and Piangi moved forward, slapping him on the back and laughing together, congratulating him on his _daring stunt, _as they called it. He only smiled in return, seeming too shy to truly join in their fun. His eyes met Christine's briefly before he offered the scarf, shrugging and grinning awkwardly.

"Your scarf," he said a little dumbly, still out of breath.

With an almost equally stupid grin, Christine launched herself forward and wrapped her arms tightly around his shoulders, crushing their lips together.


	16. Chapter 16

Erik did not emerge from that music room in the following fortnight. Though Christine was quite sure she should have been happy with this development, considering he seemed far too distracted to remember it was her birthday the following day, she could not help but be curious as to what it was that he was doing locked away in there. She had passed by in the hallway many a time over those two weeks and had heard nothing that might betray the activities, though when she had asked Mary she had been informed that the master of the house had ways of making that room sound proof, though no one was quite sure how.

Maybe it was just one of his magic tricks he spoke of, Christine thought.

Without the aid of the usual music lessons, the days dragged by horrifically to the point where Christine thought she would go mad. Often she tried singing to herself, as if it might catch _his_ attention, or at the very least might give her something to do. The notes always came out wrong to her, though, and she soon gave in and was silent. The silence extended to a point where she no longer felt the need to speak; for the most part of the day she was alone, and when Mary sought her out to either summon her for dinner or bring food to the bedroom, Christine felt that there was nothing to say. Mary did not seem troubled by this selective muteness and did not speak out against it, only offering small little generic wishes of good health and good day.

The morning came on the day prior to her birthday and Christine found herself in a state of melancholy she had not felt beforehand. Yes, she had felt alone, and she had certainly been both confused and scared, but the emotions had appeared to collapse, leaving nothing. Her mind could not stop her from reflecting on her previous birthdays. The sense of excitement, the feigned embarrassment over attention… the comparison to her current situation made Christine shudder.

As if to compliment her mood, the weather outside had slowly become more and more grey until the threat of rain became more and more likely. It was disturbingly uncharacteristic of the season. It seemed like hours passed as Christine stood at the window, almost willing it to rain. The clouds perhaps seemed to darken, but there was no rain. With a sigh, Christine finally left the window, looking about the room aimlessly. Though the house was already a prison, she knew, this bedroom was one she had created for herself and in that moment she refused to allow it be a prison any longer.

The rest of the house seemed perfectly quiet, the servants seeming to have all disappeared together. Christine had only passingly met the last two, Miss Merryforth and Mr Birch. They were kindly enough, though hardly spectacular people. Middle aged, quiet, and very compliant to their master. It was because of this that Christine felt no remorse in their absence. She continued wandering, briefly thinking on exploring the upper floor of the house but remembering all too clearly what she had found last time she had done such a thing.

It didn't bear thinking about.

Eventually Christine found herself returning to the library, the walls seeming overly familiar by this point. It was perhaps the most homely of rooms that she could find and had been a sanctuary of sorts early on in Erik's disappearance. Each time she went there, Christine took her place at the windowsill, sitting on the padded ledge under it. It provided a good enough view of the gardens to keep her occupied and somewhat curious.

Apparently, the darkening weather had lost in its efforts to put off the gardener- Richard, if Christine recalled correctly. No, he still continued his work, perhaps because he enjoyed it or perhaps because he had nothing else to do. It seemed a perfectly reasonable explanation; the house was so clean in the areas that Erik permitted the servants in that there would be no need to clean, and no one dared mention rooms that he had shut off from everyone, himself included.

With little other reason than his age, Richard had somehow fascinated Christine. She did not understand how any of the servants had come to the house, yet it was somewhat more confusing that someone that young should live with such a man. Of course, Erik had already explained, yet obligatory adoption did not seem a particularly satisfactory explanation.

Once or twice, Christine could see that Richard sensed himself being watched. His head often turned a fraction of an inch, very rarely looking directly at the window Christine sat in when she did appear. Though he was aware, he was not forward and had made no efforts to speak to her. It had not bothered her for a while; Christine had assumed that there were rules about these things, that she was to be left alone. Yet Mary frequently saw her, frequently spoke to her, and even Miss Merryforth and Mr Birch had talked to her, however quietly and briefly that was.

Biting her lip nervously, Christine looked up at the latch on the window, wondering if it were locked. To her surprise, it wasn't. The sound of the latch being opened caught Richard's attention, and Christine almost smiled when she saw his reaction. It was as if he were a deer, the way he stood straight sharply, his eyes wide. The tawny hair and sun-darkened complexion only helped to finish the comparison. Christine pushed open the window as far as it would go, this only being enough to hold the conversation she wished to claim.

Still quite wide eyed and wary, Richard took the opening of the window as a signal for his approach and did so, though with a slowness that bordered on irritating.

"Did you need something?" he asked oddly, the end of the sentence seeming awkward as if he had no idea of how to refer to her.

"You're Richard, right?" Immediately the question sounded stupid in her head, but Christine felt she had nothing else to begin with. He nodded affirmatively. "Erik told me about you."

"He did?"

"Well, some stuff."

The pause that ensued seemed terribly awkward, Christine thought. Richard stared as if awaiting a command of sorts, and cleared his throat when he deemed the silence as excess.

"Was there anything you needed?" he asked, still seeming unsure of how to refer to her.

"I wanted a chat," she replied, as if it were the simplest thing in the world. "The gardens look perfect, you hardly need to carry on messing about with them."

"You like it all?" There was a hint of excitement in his tone that surprised Christine. Perhaps he wasn't used to praise; certainly with Erik as his guardian or master, it did not seem likely.

"As far as plants go, yeah, they're very pretty."

That certainly seemed to delight him. His doe-like appearance was broken and he seemed slightly more human, a small shy grin breaking the animalistic illusion. It was certainly one of the most comforting sights that Christine had seen in her time within these walls. _I could probably push this…_

"Do you think you'd show them to me some time?"

"Probably not," he replied, sadly sincere, though he still smiled to show there was no ill will. "Mr Destler wouldn't approve."

"Yes, you're probably right." _Dammit_. "But… he's doing that composing thing, right? Mary mentioned. That's why he's locked away."

"So?"

"_So_, that means he wouldn't ever find out if I did leave the house. Just for a little bit." He still looked doubtful. "I promise I won't tell."

"Yes, but you wouldn't be the one in trouble if he found out."

"I suppose not," she admitted. "But it really is a shame. I do really want to take a look about the gardens."

Richard seemed far too easily pleased by this and his grin widened a little, though somewhat guiltily. He nodded and then looked about, as if he could be being watched at any time.

"Give me a minute and meet me at the kitchen door, there's some shoes around there you could borrow."

Christine saw the boy disappear and found her feet again, quickly making her way to the kitchen. She did not give a second glance to the music room when she passed it, strangely delighted instead in the idea of an outdoor venture. Certainly with the weather looking ready to be so grim, she doubted that she would be able to persuade Erik in a thousand years to allow her outside. There was no one waiting about in the kitchen, and so Christine passed by unnoticed.

The shoes that Richard had mentioned were a plain old pair of Wellington boots, and Christine could not help but smile at the ordinary nature of them. Considering the grandeur that the house seemed to exude, something normal was to be taken in happiness. As she pulled them on, Richard appeared at the doorway, still grinning.

"Just a short while outside, right?" he said, as if reaffirming something that had not been mentioned. Christine had not realised until that point that the boy seemed to deem her a second in command, as it were, to the household. She nodded quickly, too eager to abuse this small power.

"Yes, of course, only a short while."

She followed him out, remaining an arms length away from him as if she were afraid of contact. He did not seem to notice nor mind, though, happy to simply remain quiet and distant until Christine spoke. Perhaps, she thought, he was not used to the company. Mary was always quite busy with something or another, and the others were always hidden away.

"How long have you lived here?" she asked as she stopped by one of the many rose bushes, looking at the now closed petals that hid from the cold.

"Only about eight years. Mr Destler brought me here when I was eleven."

"You had to live _here_ as a kid?"

"It's not that bad," Richard laughed. "A lot of room out here. And Mary was always nice to me."

"She's been working here that long?"

"She was here since Mr Destler was young I think," he mused, pausing when he saw the surprise on Christine's face. "Didn't he tell you?"

"I didn't even know he'd been young," she replied.

Richard chuckled, turning his back slightly to look at another bush as if thinking something through. Christine too turned her back on him, slowly moving as she looked at each and every individual plant, the strange care that had been taken over them. The precision was both beautiful and eerie. Richard turned to see Christine slowly meandering about the foliage and bit his lip nervously before calling out.

"You're not going anywhere, right?"

"I'm not going _far_," she replied, flashing a small smile. "Not that I could."

"I'm not really meant to let you out of my sight."

"You're not really meant to let me out of the house at all," Christine pointed out. "Look, you can follow me if you really want, I don't mind. I just thought you wanted to go back to work, you seem to enjoy it."

"I really shouldn't…" Richard trailed off, returning to the image of some sort of forlorn animal. Christine smiled reassuringly and nodded, as if giving him permission.

"I don't mind. It's not like I know where I am or anything."

There was a pause before Richard nodded, turning back towards the bushes.

"Just don't go far, okay?" he mumbled barely loud enough for her to hear, but nonetheless Christine promised she would remain close to the house and continued walking.

It was somewhat liberating to be able to walk so freely. She was not sure whether there would be a fence barring her way eventually or whether the land simply merged into someone else's at some point or another. It was tempting to run, she had to admit, but there would be no use. Richard would find her, or at least find a way of distracting Erik. No, there really was no use in running. But that didn't stop her from walking. Christine no longer bothered to check whether Richard could see her or not. If he felt that she had gone too far or disappeared from his sight, she was sure he would come find her. He knew the land far better than she did.

The grounds really were quite beautiful, even once the general garden area had been passed. Christine was surprised she had not been stopped by this point; she had been walking for some time, perhaps twenty or so minutes, walking back and forth before venturing up a low hillside. It was not particularly far from the house- it was certainly still visible- but perhaps it was enough to make Richard worry? Still, he did not come, and so Christine did not stop. She looked down once she had reached the top of the small hillside and saw a rather plain, though pretty field. It was home to a fairly small lake, surrounded by reeds, and there was barely anything else of note there.

After one last look towards the house, Christine moved forward. Certainly she had been standing there long enough for Richard to know where she was, there could be no harm in continuing.

The grass was soft, the earth beneath it almost dampened to the point of a marsh. It splattered at times if she trod too heavily in certain spots, but the mud only caused her to laugh out loud childishly, smiling pettily at the mess that had been made of the hem of the light blue dress. Perhaps Erik would finally emerge from his music room and see the work she had made of his gifts. Maybe it would stop him from abandoning her again.

She continued, finally finding her way through the thickening mud to the side of the lake. It didn't seem to be anything impressive, rather small in size and far too murky to guess the depth. Nevertheless, it seemed a fine enough place to stop and think. Though she had been alone for some time now, there was something in the freedom of the outdoors that made the solitude more palpable. The wind had picked up, leaving Christine chillier than she had expected, her knees shaking with the cold. It was not strong enough, though, for her to abandon her moment of peace.

To try and gather some sort of heat, Christine began to walk slowly about the edge of the lake, looking down towards it as if she might find some image reflected in it. Of course, nothing ever appeared. It was clouded enough to appear more a table than a mirror. She kicked a twig into the waters as if the surface would not break, though it did with a heavy splash. Christine did not count the time that she spent there, only circling the lake several times over, looking up every once in a while at the grassy slope in case she was found. No one came, and for a short while Christine suspected that no one would. It was another sense of freedom that she had not expected and savoured.

The solitude was not to last long, though. Eventually Christine turned her head, the hair whipped in front of her eyes as she tried to look, and the blindness caused by this meaning she could only see a figure in the distance watching her. The figure remained still when she paused, and Christine lowered her head as she turned again towards it. She supposed this was the signal for the end of her time. She had hoped Richard would have given her longer.

It was the last thought that Christine had before loosing her feet.

She was not sure of how she fell, but the mud certainly did not help her. Christine plunged to the ground, the sloppy earth carrying her into the waters. After a short time, she resurfaced, gasping for breath and blinking in surprise. The clouded water had done extremely well in hiding its depths, and she would not have guessed that there was still so much left of the water to go. She grasped to find the land again, something to claw at and pull herself away, but before she could find such a thing there was a tugging at her ankle. Christine was pulled down again as she kicked away, still scrabbling to find her way to the air source.

Time passed by slower at that point. The air was slowly leaving her, the energy slowly dissipating. Christine kicked out a few more times in a futile attempt to escape, but it was no use. Her thoughts were turning to silence, and nothing could invade her mind other than the closing in darkness.

Vaguely, Christine was aware of a slight tugging around her waist. The sensation was distant, as if it could have been a dream, but the illusion of such a thing was broken when the rush of frozen air hit her. Her instinct was to gasp or cry out, but her lungs would not allow it. The sudden briskness brought back a small level of awareness to Christine, and so she could feel two arms cradling her tightly, and the bobbing of a brisk walk. Her hand automatically reached out and clung onto the material of a shirt.

They continued moving, and Christine slipped back into the blackness.


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N: I want to thank everyone again for continued support in reviewing this :D Just a quick reply to another anonymous reviewer:**

**Frame a Name: Thanks very much for the kind review, I understand the pessimism and I'm glad you took a chance on this story- I'm even MORE glad that it's turned out a nice surprise! And yeah, she does give in quite easily at times, though I hope that I manage to explain her reasoning well enough in later chapters**

**Now onto another chapter! This one's a bit boring/ odd to read, at least in my opinion, but hey, I wanted some more Raoul time :P**

The room was somewhat crowded, adding to the already unbearable heat in Christine's opinion. Yet the other girls seemed to sleep soundly enough, Meg muttering small little nonsensical phrases. Christine stared about the room for a few hours, waiting to fall unconscious, but it never came. Her thoughts raced, finally catching up with her. Finally it seemed that there was no chance of sleeping, and Christine grew too restless to simply lie there. She shifted slowly from the bed, praying that the creaking springs wouldn't wake the others.

As she descended the stairs, Christine could hear that she was not the only person in the house awake. The television buzzed quietly, some late night news channel that was talking about nothing of particular interest. She paused halfway down the staircase, overlooking the living room, and saw her suspicions confirmed. Raoul sat looking vaguely at the television, though was distracted at the creaking of a step. The two stared at each other for a moment before Christine continued her way down.

"Hey," she murmured hesitantly, keeping her eyes cast down.

"Couldn't sleep?"

"Nope."

"Neither could I."

Christine moved forward and sat beside Raoul, staring at the television in an equally vague manner. He wrapped an arm loosely around her shoulder though seemed unsure if it was something that he was allowed to do. They sat in such a manner for a short time before Raoul cleared his throat uncomfortably.

"Was it a bad dream or something?"

"What?"

"A nightmare. Was that why you couldn't sleep?"

"No nightmares. No sleep at all. Just thinking."

"Me too."

Raoul pulled her in closer, his other arm wrapping around her as he pressed his lips to her forehead. He continued, trailing small kisses towards her lips before Christine finally turned her head away, turning back towards the television. Raoul looked at her, his brow furrowed, a fact which Christine tried to ignore, keeping her eyes forward and her back straight.

"What's the matter?"

"Nothing."

"Seriously, you can tell me." Christine remained silent. "Did I do something wrong?"

"No."

"But you were perfectly fine earlier."

"I wasn't thinking earlier."

He stiffened noticeably at these words and Christine looked up, suddenly guilty. She hadn't meant to sounds quite so callous, and bit her lip nervously. The very last thing she needed was for Raoul to hate her… knowing that Erik would too.

"What do you mean you weren't thinking?" he asked coolly, trying to seem passive. "You've changed your mind then?"

"About what?"

"About us."

"What about us?"

"Christine, you're doing this on purpose now. Have you changed your mind about… you know, _us_?"

Christine paused, looking Raoul in the eye as she tried to think of an answer other than:

"No."

"What do you mean no?"

"No. I haven't changed my mind. I still like you."

"Then what's the problem?"

"I'm married, Raoul. It wouldn't be right."

As if to prove the point, she stretched out her left hand in front of her, the golden ring standing out in the dim light. Raoul looked at, a mild pain etched into his face. However, it only lasted a moment before he looked back at Christine, trying to seem serene. It did not work, but Christine tried not to let him realise it.

"I thought it was just a little bit of memorabilia."

"It's more than that, Raoul."

"No, it's not. Do you really plan on staying married to this man, Christine? I understand, it was a long time, things happen and sometimes you can grow attached. But you're going to grow out of it some time."

"You don't understand," Christine murmured, bringing her legs up onto the couch and tucking her knees under her chin, wrapping her arms around herself. "Don't try and pretend you understand because you _don't_. People keep trying to say they understand but no one does. Just Erik."

"That man kidnapped you! He can't understand. You said yourself he was mad, didn't you?"

"Just because you read a few articles about me, doesn't mean you suddenly get the whole situation, Raoul. I said things because it's the way it's done."

"I need a drink," Raoul sighed, standing up and disappearing into the kitchen. He did not reappear after the sound of the fridge and glass clinking could be heard, and so Christine followed, her arms still wrapped around her torso as if the unbearable heat had suddenly disappeared. Raoul stood against the counter top with the neck of a bottle held limply in one hand. He looked up slightly when Christine entered, though did not smile.

"Please don't be mad at me," she whispered, pathetically in her opinion.

"I'm not mad at you."

"You're acting pretty mad at me."

"I'm… mad at the situation."

"That sounds like something a parent would say."

Raoul shrugged, taking another sip. Christine moved towards him and pushed herself up onto the counter beside him, sitting with her legs dangling. He did not turn to look at her, still staring out into space. The silence was droning, and so Christine reached out and placed a hand on Raoul's shoulder, tugging slightly at the material of his shirt as if that would make him turn to her. He still ignored her, though was forced to turn when she placed her other hand about his neck to his other shoulder, moving him forcefully so that he had to look at her. His expression remained blank, however, saddening Christine to no end. She brushed the hair from his face and smiled slightly.

"You promise you're not mad at me?" she asked, as if she were a child.

"I promise."

"_Double _promise?"

"Christine, what's your point?"

Slowly, she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him closer, brushing her lips against his in the slightest of kisses. He responded for a small while, playing along with her little fancies, but soon enough he refused her and pushed her away, lightly laying her hands back on her own lap.

"I don't get it."

"What's the matter?" Christine asked, her brow furrowed.

"You literally _just_ reminded me that you're married."

"So?"

"So make up your mind."

Christine bit her lip and tried to wait the silence out until Raoul continued, willing him to move onto a different topic, to say something else, or anything at all. He seemed adamant on waiting, though, and so she was forced to speak.

"I don't know."

"You don't know what?"

"I don't know what to do."

"But you know what you want."

"I think so."

"What do you want, Christine?"

"I want you."

"But you just said-"

"I don't want a divorce," she interrupted, less finishing his sentence than expressing her own wishes. Raoul stopped, furrowing his brow in thought. He placed his drink on the counter beside her and leant forward, his arms almost entrapping her on the counter. She did not mind, though.

"You said you'd feel guilty," he continued, quieter now. "If you… if _we_… that can't happen unless you get a divorce. It's either that or… or feel guilty."

"I don't _want_ to feel guilty."

"Then get a divorce."

"But I can't."

"Then we can't be together."

"Yes we _can_!"

"But you _just said_-"

"I say a lot of things!" Christine said irritably, feeling her eyes water. "I do want to be with you, I do, I promise! I want nothing more, but I can't just _leave_ him like that! What would he do? Oh, Raoul, you don't know what he's like- I can't just leave him alone in the world, I can't!"

Unsure of how to reply, Raoul lay his hands on Christine's, hers gripping his tightly the moment the contact was made. She pressed one of his palms lightly against her cheek, breathing quickly as she tried to calm herself. Raoul brought his other hand to her face, forcing her to look him in the eye.

"I don't care, you know," he said slowly. "I don't care if you're married. It's not like… it's not like you're doing anything, right? _Right?_"

"Right," Christine replied, sniffing.

"Then there's no problem with me. I mean, you're gonna grow out of it. I'm sure you will. So I just have to wait. And it's not like we'd get married any time soon, if at all. But you… obviously don't know what to do. What am I supposed to make of that, eh?"

Christine nodded, prising his hands away from her and placed them back on her knees. She looked down as her thoughts raced, trying to think of a solution to it all.

"Raoul… can you not just choose for me? Tell me what to do, Raoul, please?"

"Why should I?"

"Because you'll know what's best, right? I don't know what's best at all."

"You don't need me to tell you what to do."

"Yes I do. Someone needs to tell me what to do, because I certainly don't know. Just please, Raoul, tell me. I can't leave him, but maybe if you said to, I could do it, couldn't I? Or do I stay? And then what?"

"I'm not deciding, Christine."

"But you could!"

"Yes, I could. But I won't."

"But why-"

"Because I don't understand, remember?" he said with a wry smile. "How am I supposed to make one of the biggest decisions of your life for you? No, you have to decide it on your own, Christine."

She whimpered slightly at this idea, resting her head on Raoul's shoulder. He buried his face into her hair, softly inhaling as he wrapped his arms around her back.

"You don't make things easy for me," he murmured, tracing small patterns over her shoulder. "Would you grow out of it? The guilt, that is."

"I don't know," she mumbled in return, too exhausted to lift her head.

"I wish you could."

"He's so alone, Raoul," Christine continued, her arms snaking about him. "I can't leave him by himself again… it could kill him. No one deserves to be alone, Raoul, no one."

"He's alone anyway. You can't help that."

"No! No, he has such a faith in titles, he told me as much. He told me he was just content with me being a Destler, I remember. He must still mean it."

"_You _don't mean it though," Raoul said.

"I never meant it. I never wanted to get married. But I did. And that's the way he likes it."

"You don't owe him anything. You don't have to give in to what he likes."

"I owe him everything!" Christine cried out, muffled by Raoul's shirt. She immediately regretted the words and sat back, her watery eyes on the brink of overflowing. Raoul looked back at her, more confused than ever.

"What could you owe him? He _kidnapped you_, Christine."

"Don't you think I know that? It started like that, Raoul, but he- he taught me things, he really did. And he told me things, _horrible_ things. I owe him because no one else will give to him what he wants- and he's never had anything, Raoul! He's had nothing! Except for me. I know it sounds vain, but if I leave him with nothing then what else is there for him?"

"For God's sake, Christine…" Raoul trailed off, shaking his head. He sighed, looking at her curiously for a moment. "Do you love him?"

"That's stupid."

"This is all really stupid. Do you love him?"

"What do you think?"

"That's not a no."

"No!" she sighed irritably, hitting the palm of her hand against Raoul's shoulder to shove him away. "No, no, no, no, no. Again? No! I don't. And you're sick to ask it!"

"But this doesn't make any sense to me. I just want to try and understand, Christine."

"Well how the hell are you meant to understand when I don't understand? If I understood any of it then we wouldn't be having this conversation! I'd have been able to say yes or no, just like that, but instead I'm trying to explain myself to you even though _I_ don't know what the hell's going on!"

"How about you just tell _me_ what to do?" Raoul said, the slight change in the pitch of his voice displaying the distress he felt. "Fine, I might not understand, but I know you've been through a lot, I know you're confused, but couldn't you just tell me what to do? I could leave, I could stay, just tell me which. I'll do it, I promise, anything you want. You just have to tell me first."

"Stay," she replied firmly, tucking her head quickly into the crook of his neck. "I want you to stay."

"Why?"

"Because I want something _normal_," Christine murmured, tightening her hold. "I want something safe and normal and nice."

"Funny, because I wasn't looking for any of those things," Raoul taunted lightly, smiling. Christine looked up and poked her tongue out before smiling as well, kissing him briefly.

"I'll sort something out," she continued, the tremors now gone from her voice. "I'll decide about the marriage and everything later. Can we just… can we just pretend? Like it never happened."

"Like what never happened?"

They kissed once more, and before long both retired to their bedrooms with easier minds.


	18. Chapter 18

**At last, I have begun work on my own Phantom of the Opera screenplay, because most of the other movies really hack me off when I compare them to the book. Being the future Spielberg [[or, better yet, the future Guillermo del Torro… except a girl… and English…]] I shall have course make this movie a reality one day :D Seriously though, I was contemplating who would be the best Erik… I must admit, I have my heart set on Terrance Zdunich [[drooooooooool]]. Am I the only one who thinks he would be one hell of a Phantom?**

**Anyway, on with the show!**

It was far too warm under the covers. Christine's first instinct when she woke was to kick them off, but a shooting pain in her joints and bones made her stop, gasping aloud as the pain found her. Her breathing came out ragged as she tried to pass through it, but the process took a while. When finally she did find herself at a level of peace that allowed it, Christine opened her eyes and found herself once more in her tidy, bright bedroom. Her only view at that time was of her ceiling, her neck far too sore to turn immediately. Slowly, though, she turned, wincing immediately when she saw that familiar figure in the corner watching her.

"You're in pain," Erik said matter of factly.

"You're- out," Christine retorted, though she wished that she had not spoken at all as the pain hit her again. She closed her eyes tightly as she waited again for it to ease, and when she opened them again Erik stood by her bedside, looking down at her.

"You could have died," he whispered, emotion barely visible in his words. He had long come to terms with this fact, it seemed, and was no longer in the midst of any sort of surprise or sadness over the fact. Christine wished she could sleep again if only to avoid the anger that she expected to follow. "You certainly gave young Richard a scare."

"Where-"

"He is working," Erik interrupted, knowing that Christine would only continue to cause herself pain. "Though I was quite tempted to have him sent from the house."

Christine opened her mouth, but could not speak, her mouth suddenly dry. As if sensing this, Erik moved away swiftly towards a jug of water that was kept on a small table beside the bed. He poured water into a glass and moved back to the bed, now sitting on it gently. The bed hardly moved, as if he hadn't much weight to him. With a surprising gentleness, Erik wrapped an arm under her and forced Christine into a sitting position, leant against his shoulder for support. He brought the water to her lips and she drank, unable to think the situation through further that the ease that the liquid gave.

"Yes, he was rather frightened by your absence," Erik continued, placing the water back on the table but refusing to move from the bed, instead holding her tighter. The pain was numbed by the cool feel of Erik's body which seemed somewhat colder than Christine had expected. To her surprise, as her awareness came back, Christine found that the body so close to hers was surprisingly skeletal. She had never taken much notice of the feel of him when he had held her this tightly all that time ago, and felt somewhat frightened by the protruding ribs that prodded her. "He had looked for you, he said. It was as if you had vanished."

"I-"

"Nearly cost him his position, I know. You should have heard the lad, Christine. He came knocking at my music room door. No, not at all knocking, actually, he put all his effort into trying to break down that door, I'm sure of it. Screaming that you had gone. Well, if anything could have brought me from my music, it was the idea that you were gone. I would have punished him there and then if he hadn't been so distraught- have you ever seen a young man cry, Christine?"

The very image made tears come to Christine's eyes. She looked up towards Erik, his features suddenly amused as he saw her distress. He placed a finger under her chin, pulling her head up slightly so that she saw him clearly.

"He was obviously quite sure I would punish him. And indeed I did, eventually. But no, first I had to find you. Fortunately I was not as, shall we say, flustered as he was. Once I saw you were not on the grounds, I thought you might have lied to our dear friend and instead wandered off. And you had, Christine! You had wandered all that way into my lesser used land, didn't you? Had to be so curious. So careless. When I saw you, I was sure you would be ill- barely dressed in that atrocious weather? What a silly girl you are. Very, _very_ silly." As if to put a finer point on it, he tapped her nose, tweaking it slightly like a child. "Already so ill prepared, and yet you seemed to need to push it further. Is that why you fell? Did you purposefully trip? Just to prove how careless you could be?"

"It- it wasn't- on purpose," Christine wheezed, her brow furrowed in concentration.

"My, you're getting those words back now, aren't you? Well, you shall need them to defend your actions. I spoke to Richard after you had been put to bed, of course, and he mentioned to me that you had promised him you would not go far. He mentioned also that you complimented his gardens, did you not? Christine, my dear Christine, why would you do such a thing? Seduce the poor boy with your fancy charms until he let you out of the house? What choice did the boy have when confronted with such a charm? Oh, but you knew all about that. You knew that he would have no choice."

"I'm s-sorry."

"Oh, I'm sure you are, but that's beside the point my dear. You've been going about tricking people, and that's not a very polite thing to do, is it? All this time I thought you were my beautiful Eve, but you might as well be crawling about on your belly. Was it so dull without me, Christine? Did you feel the need to twist someone's mind to your own wishes?"

"Water," Christine choked, her throat dry again. "Please- water."

Obediently, Erik reached again for the glass, raising it to her lips and allowing her to drink as greedily as she wished. Christine felt no shame in it, her instincts controlling her.

"Dear, Christine, you certainly were parched. No, don't move, I'm putting it away now, we have much to discuss. Do you happen to know what day it is, Christine?"

She looked up sharply, gaping. _Had I been asleep that long?_

"Ah! You seem to have figured it out then, eh? Your birthday, Christine. How does it feel? You are a grown woman now. Strange considering only yesterday you were acting such a child. But you will act very adult today, I expect. You don't want to show yourself up, do you? No, in your position, I wouldn't want to either. No, you're going to be very well behaved. You shall listen to your poor Erik and allow him to talk to you civilly- he can do it. He can be very civil when you also behave. In fact, he can be quite a dream."

"I don't-" Christine stammered, feeling herself panic. "I don't- don't want to- to-"

"Oh, come now, Christine, I haven't said a word, have I? You do expect the worst of me. Look, aren't I being quite calm now? I feel quite calm all of a sudden, no longer so angry with you. Though I had every right to be considering your behaviour. But look now! I am quite calm, quite serene, and quite prepared to have a small chat with you. That doesn't sound so bad, eh? A small chat with Erik?"

Christine shook her head, but Erik took no notice. He moved away from her, firstly propping her up against the head board so that she sat, freely able to watch him move. Erik had an assortment of items lined on her dresser; medicines, pieces of paper, cloths and the like. He took hold of one of these pieces of paper and brought it with him, sitting again on the edge of the bed and facing her.

"Do you know what this is, Christine?"

"No."

"It is a certificate, Christine. Very official looking, isn't it? I do think your name would look very pretty on it. Very pretty indeed."

"Don't!"

Erik stopped then, his eyes suddenly softening. They did not hold the excitement and thrill they held only moments ago, now almost childish. Most certainly pitiful. Christine could not look away and tried to catch her breath after the outburst, close to breaking down for those poor, sad eyes. Erik lowered his head slightly.

"I will be dutiful, Christine," he said solemnly. "The most dutiful husband you could ever dream of. I would give you anything your heart desired. Clothes, books, gifts, whatever you would ask for I would find for you. It would not be so bad being married to me."

"I don't want to."

"No, I expected as much. No one would dare _touch_ poor Erik let alone _marry_ him. But you see, Christine, he has no intention of harming you. Erik would be quite kind to you, he would never expect anything of you. He would gladly _beg_ for any kindnesses you would bestow on him in return; beg for a kind word, a light touch- _a kiss_, if you were so willing. You would be in no danger, Christine. Nothing would change! All that would happen would be that I may call you my wife, and you in return must think of me as your husband. Does that not sound fine, Christine?"

"Then what's the point?" Christine moaned, sinking into her pillows in a meagre attempt to escape. "If you won't- won't _do_ anything to me, what's the point?"

"Do you not believe me Christine? Only to say that you are my wife! Erik has never, never had the chance to say such a thing, to say he has a wife." His excitement had returned with a vengeance by this point, though the sparkle in his eye was not a malicious one; he maintained the composure of a child asking for a gift, a child shyly requesting the largest gift he could possibly think of. "We could pretend, you know, and eventually you might enjoy my company in return. We could pretend to be any other married couple, we could walk the gardens whenever you wished, side by side. We could read together, sing together, anything you so wished!"

"I want to go _home_!"

"We could make believe anything," he continued as if she had not spoken. "It would be perfect, Christine, I assure you! I could sing for you whenever you wished, a serenade! I could write letters, if you wanted some love sick boy in my stead. You might be able to abide by me soon enough!"

"Please don't," Christine whispered, sinking her head into her hands. "Please, please don't make me."

"But you must," Erik said, the mildest hint of pleading still remaining in his voice. "You really, really must- but you must also accept the fact that I only wish to make it easier for you."

"_Please_, don't make me!"

Erik ignored her once more and placed the paper on Christine's lap allowing her to look over the words briefly. She did not dare to take them in further than the title. _Certificate of Marriage_. The mere mention of it made her skin go cold. She looked up again at Erik, feeling her hands shake. His jaw was set in a manner that displayed a certain annoyance, though his eyes… they were still soft, still pleading.

"I won't love you," Christine said quietly, closing her eyes.

"Perhaps not, but perhaps you will, one day."

"No, Erik. No- I refuse to love you. I won't let that happen. So there's no point in this, is there?"

"Oh, Christine, all I want is a wife, someone to care for, to love."

"You can do that without a certificate."

"_Christine_!"

The sharp, angry tone with which he spoke finally reduced Christine to tears. She sobbed loudly for what felt like the thousandth time since she had awoken in this house, and gave herself into the terrible, shattering cries. Quickly Erik was close to her once more, his fingers lightly pressed to her hairline while his forehead waited only inches away from her own.

"Why are you so frightened, Christine?" he moaned, as if ready to weep himself. "Would it truly be so bad?"

She could not respond, her throat closing as she tried to speak. Erik leant forward slightly, the cool material of his mask pressed against Christine's forehead. His breathing came out shallow as he attempted to maintain a calm composure.

"Don't deny me this," Erik continued, his voice barely above a whisper. "Please… please, don't deny me this, Christine."

"I-I can't," Christine stammered, passing past the pain of a sore throat. "I-I-I'm only eighteen, it's t-too young!"

"Is that all? It doesn't matter, my dear, it doesn't." His hands moved to stroke her hair softly, trying to calm her.

Christine continued crying, though she felt her breathing come slower, more steady. Eventually, all that was left of her outburst was heavily watered eyes and a slight bout of hiccups that she swallowed back. She shifted slightly until Erik leant back, releasing her but still keeping close, watching her carefully.

"I don't want to turn to threats," he said quietly. "I would rather beg, if it would appease you. _Please_, Christine, you mustn't deny me my chance for a wife."

She looked at him steadily, waiting for his patience to break and for him to continue shouting, to continue taunting or excitedly discussing a life she expected they would never have. He was content instead in only waiting for her reply, for her to make her decision. Christine did indeed think it over for a short while, until the silence felt unbearable. She wondered… how bad _could_ it be? Of course, it would be horrific. She knew it. Her instincts told her nothing but bad things when it came to the idea of this marriage. And yet Erik seemed so sincere in his efforts to appease her… he did not need to try and persuade her, he had already informed her that the marriage would take place against her will if it were needed.

In the end, though, it did not matter. All that mattered was that she had no choice.

Slowly, Christine nodded and reached for the paper, sniffing loudly. Erik's eyes lit up though he refused to betray such emotions with a smile, only handing her a pen, watching her as she put it to paper.

"It won't make a difference," she said thickly as she carefully signed her name. "I won't ever love you."

"Perhaps in time."

"No," she said firmly, shaking her head and pushing the signed document back towards him. "It isn't that I don't expect to, it is that I _refuse_ to."

Erik held the certificate, no longer paying attention to Christine's words. His stare was almost frighteningly direct, as if he were transfixed. Indeed, he probably was. It continued like this for some time before finally he placed the paper aside on the table, turning back towards Christine with his head lowered.

"Thank you," he said in a whisper, taking hold of her hand. He pressed it to his lips, kissing her gently. "Thank you, my dear- my _love_." He took hold of her other hand, kissing it just as tenderly. "Oh, you will never understand what you have done for me, Christine, you will never understand the joy you have brought me."

He continued to kiss her hands, and as he did so Christine felt as a trickle of tears drenched her skin, _his_ tears. Had he truly been so overwhelmed that he would openly weep in front of her? No, perhaps not openly. Erik did not look up at her, as if ashamed by his tears and his emotions, but nevertheless she felt them and saw the slight shaking of his figure.

"You will not regret it, Christine," Erik continued, a choked happiness in his voice. "I most certainly never will. Until the day I die, I shall always remember this kindness; that a woman should willingly marry me, agree to be my wife!"

_Under threat._

"We will be happy," he said with conviction, determined to make it so. "I shall make you happy one day, however long it takes."

Quickly he moved and Christine found that he sat beside her before she could register said movements. He crushed her towards him, his arms wrapped tightly around her torso and his face buried in her curls. Christine was frozen with a sort of fear, unsure of the new contact and unable to move away. He really was quite unbearably cold; strange, she thought, considering he was still covered, not an inch of skin visible other than his lower face and neck which were not hidden from her as he wept tears of joy into her hair. The scene was enough to shock Christine out of any tears that she had threatened to continue spilling. In fact, she had never felt quite so composed in all her time within those walls.

Tentatively, without a reason other than sheer pity, Christine moved her hands, laying them gently on Erik's shoulders in a way that would not push him away but instead give him whatever comfort she was willing to give. The action surprised her, but she did not move away. It seemed fair to fight back and to argue most of the time, though to fight against a man so vulnerable simply seemed not only a waste of time, but a tragically sinful thing to do. Erik only held her tighter after this, shivering with silent sobs.

Christine knew then that he would do her no harm that day.


	19. Chapter 19

**My dears, your humble author has recently become what you would call a 'legal adult', and therefore will be busy having an avid social life. You know, partying late into the night, travelling the world, doing adult things, and therefore won't have much time to be online...**

**Just kidding, I'm still an internet addict :D**

**But in any case, I did not get a single present from any of you, you naughty people, and so you'll just have to review. Every single one of you ;D In case you choose not to, I hope you enjoy this chapter in any case. **

Apparently, Erik's behaviour had been quite admirable over the two months that Christine had been absent from the home. That is to say, he had not displayed any of the violent tendencies that had been shown at the beginning of his stay. For this, Christine's visit acted as a sort of reward to him and they were not led immediately into the same room as before, instead being allowed access to the large garden under the careful eye of two attendants. The garden was not at all as grand nor wonderful as those that Christine was used to, instead only being a fairly large rectangle lined with trees and bushes, the grass littered with discarded books or items used that morning.

Erik certainly did seem amiable in comparison to Christine's first visit. He was silent when she first arrived, refusing to speak until they were left to walk alone, though he gave a small smile that made Christine feel all the more guilty.

"I'd thought that the summer might have changed you somewhat," Erik mused, referring to her still pale skin. "I thought you had been by the sea?"

"It was rather cloudy," Christine said quietly, unable to look at Erik directly. "In any case, I never tan."

"And… and you enjoyed yourself, did you?" He was tentative in his speech; quite obviously, he did not wish to push the matter, but perhaps it was something he felt that needed to be asked. Simply for the purpose of conversation. Christine nodded.

"Yes, I did, thank you. It… it's been a good couple of months, actually. The theatre classes are going well." She looked up with a small smile. "I did the audition, just like you asked me to."

"Wonderful, Christine. And when will you be told about the part?"

"I already have." She sighed heavily. "I'm Nancy."

"I knew that you would," Erik said with a true smile of joy. "It may be small, Christine, but one can never turn down such chances."

"I suppose so…" She trailed off, sighing again. "Carla hates me, of course. She usually gets these parts and somehow the new girl beat her."

"Had you been particularly close?"

Smiling guiltily, Christine shook her head.

"No, not really, but still."

They continued walking, though Christine's mind wandered several times towards the attendants watching them, about the garden, anywhere except for directly towards Erik. He noticed after a short while, eventually deciding it best to confront her timidity.

"Have I displeased you in some way?" he asked.

"What? No, of course not, don't be silly."

"I haven't seen you this withdrawn for a while."

"I was just thinking. That's all."

Still seeming doubtful, Erik stopped walking and stared at Christine, as if waiting for a deeper response to his concerns. She only looked back with a dazed expression. Not entirely there.

"Nothing is… out of the ordinary?"

"No, nothing Erik."

"Christine, I'm quite the expert at finding out when you are lying as you will remember."

She did, and swallowed thickly at the idea of his incessant questioning. It hardly seemed worth it. Nevertheless, she offered a weak smile and tried to seem cheerful, even if it would only make the lying seem worse.

"Okay, I've just been feeling under the weather. But really, there's nothing else. I'm fine."

"You're lying."

"No, I'm not-"

"You're lying, Christine."

Christine bit her lip and looked down before continuing their walk. Erik followed closely, his hands twitching to grab her by the shoulder to halt her movements, but the presence of the doctors was always there and he refused himself the instinct to do so.

"I… I've just been thinking, okay? About life outside." _As if it had all been a prison sentence_. "I didn't think I'd take to it so easily."

"You have lived most of your life without me," Erik reminded her, though somewhat sadly. Still, he did not seem satisfied with her answer. "In what way do you take to it easily?"

"You have to remember that I do think of you regularly, Erik. I really do, and I am careful to… to not offend you."

"Christine."

"I did something stupid," Christine confessed quickly, forcing the words out.

"Something… stupid?"

"At the beach." Erik stopped then, halting the two of them with the abruptness of the action. Christine did not look at him, afraid to meet his eye.

"It's that boy, isn't it?"

"You remember that?"

"I remember everything, Christine." She winced slightly, hearing the edge in his voice that hinted his anger. "This stupid thing… what was it?"

"You've already guessed, Erik, don't make me say it."

"_Tell me_, Christine."

"I kissed him," she said quickly, stumbling over her words.

The silence that followed cemented Christine's assurance of Erik's anger. She felt those eyes burning into her, could feel the air change as he took in the words. Slowly the need to protect herself sank in and Christine wrapped an arm around herself, raising her thumb to bite her nail nervously.

"And that is all?" Erik asked sardonically after some time.

"We're… we're kind of…"

"You love this boy?"

"I've only known him for a few months."

"That's not a no, Christine."

"No, I don't," she sighed, releasing her nail. "You're angry with me."

"Yes."

"I'm sorry."

"No, Christine, you aren't," he said firmly, seething. "I don't believe you can be sorry. No, you are only a very selfish girl without that capability."

"That isn't fair, Erik!"

"Yes, Christine, it is very fair. How selfish of you to so casually betray me!"

"I didn't mean for it to happen," Christine whimpered, finally forcing herself to look Erik directly in the eye. Immediately, she wished that she hadn't and only gaped openly when she saw the flame in his eyes, almost physically burning her skin. The urge to cry out was there, but she did not dare when she remembered the presence watching them.

"And what did you expect me to, my dear? What did you expect me to say? I suppose you wanted me to forgive you, just like that."

"I wanted to talk to you."

"For what reason, Christine? To flaunt your actions?"

"I wanted to know what you wanted me to do, Erik."

"And you care?"

"Well, we're married," she said weakly, clasping her hands together. "I… I know that I was cruel, Erik, I know that. And I would understand if you wanted to… to get rid of me."

"Get rid of you?" He seemed shocked at this, the anger wavering slightly. Only very slightly, though. Christine nodded and looked down again, finally feeling brave enough to look away.

"A marriage doesn't mean anything if I don't intend to be faithful."

There was a visible stiffening in Erik's posture then, and Christine could feel the anger melt away into something else almost too abruptly.

"I would understand if you wanted a divorce. I wouldn't blame you."

"No," he said quickly. There was audible panic in his tone. "No, I wouldn't dream of it- you simply made a mistake."

"Erik, it was a mistake, but it's going to continue. I- I can't leave Raoul."

"You can," Erik insisted earnestly. "Perhaps- yes, I was too hasty in judging you, my dear, don't you think? A mere infatuation! It's quite common."

"It's not an infatuation, Erik."

"In any case, we can forget it, Christine. I'm very willing to put it behind us."

"Erik, please, it isn't as easy as that."

"Yes, it is! You need only say that you won't see the boy again, and all will be fine."

"But I will see him again."

Erik opened his mouth to speak but seemed lost for words, gaping like a fish as his brain whirred to think of excuses. Anything to keep that ring. He finally grasped hold of her hand, petting it as if he were the one trying to calm her.

"This can be put behind us."

"Don't make this harder than it already is," Christine whispered, attempting to control her voice. "I'll still come visit- like I said, as often as I can."

"Christine-"

"All that would change is the paperwork," she interrupted. "M-maybe it would be for the better; I mean, I don't want you to… to get your hopes up."

"I won't let you, Christine."

"But what's the point? I mean, I-I can't just live alone forever, and if we aren't going to-"

"I won't let you do this, Christine," Erik said harshly, gripping Christine by the shoulders. He shook her slightly, his voice wavering. "You swore to me we would remain man and wife, and I will hold you to that promise!"

He shook her again roughly, but it was not for long. The two attendants had grabbed hold of Erik before he could continue. Christine stood gaping for a short while as they held him back, though Erik fought back with a great passion, strangled groans of despair leaving him. One of the men requested that Christine return to the building, and though she barely heard him speak she nodded frantically, backing away before finally turning her back to them, wringing her hands nervously.

Thankfully, there were many people at that time in the building, enjoying their visiting hours, and it seemed that no one noticed Christine slip in. She stood idly by the doorway, biting the nail of her thumb as she tried to look out of the window to see what had happened to Erik. She assumed that they had simply taken him to a quiet corner to calm himself. It all seemed so childish, really.

Perhaps ten or so minutes passed by before Christine was awakened from her daze. A hand was placed lightly on her elbow, making her flinch and turn to the culprit.

"Are you Mr Destler's guest?" It looked as if it were a young girl speaking to her, though Christine knew better. There were no patients under age within these walls, but the girl did look awfully young, as if she had barely hit puberty. She looked a curious sort, though, and utterly harmless.

"I am," Christine said hoarsely in reply. This made the girl smile and she placed her hand again on Christine's elbow, now with a little more determination.

"You can join us in here," she said happily, pointing an open door a few metres away. Christine did not have a chance to resist as she was pulled forward, though she doubted that she would have declined in any case. The girl's smile was simply too genuine to refuse.

"I-I didn't catch your name."

"Sophie," she replied, grinning. "And you're Christine."

"You know that?"

"Of course! Mr Destler told me." _Of course_, Christine thought, _he would insist on such formalities…_

"He told you about me?"

"Yup. We traded stories."

Christine nodded, though was only confused deeper. Confessing his stories seemed like the last thing Erik would wish to do. Maybe Sophie's bright smiles and wide eyes had penetrated that thick skin of his. The thought that he might have softened ever so slightly made Christine smile, which spurred Sophie's excitement a little. They both entered a large room filled with people, a few in uniform darting about between parties. It was peculiar seeing so many people seem so… _normal_.

It was easy enough to see the patients of the establishment; they were always the centre of their small groups. Some were surrounded by large amounts, as if an entire extended family had come. Others were simply in the midst of one-on-one visitations. The saddest sight was in the room beyond this one, where some sat alone. Christine tried not to look towards that room, though she had a sneaking suspicion that Sophie belonged there.

The room was somewhat more homely than Christine had suspected; it was a similar surprise to the one she had had when she first arrived in the private room. She could quite easily understand why Erik did not want to spend their time in it. The furniture was bright and cramped, a few scattered items of entertainment value. A tall, thin book case filled with books varying from Dostoyevsky to _The Hungry Caterpillar_. A pile of board games. A slightly battered keyboard.

The last item seemed to be of greatest interest to Sophie.

"Mr Destler plays really good," she said, a little dazed.

"Does he play for you, Sophie?"

"Sometimes."

Thankfully, she seemed quite happy with this. Christine dreaded to think of Erik playing his less… conventional music, especially for this girl. Sophie continued chattering as they circled the room, allowing Christine a chance to observe her quietly. Though at first glance one wouldn't understand why she would be in such a place, slowly Christine saw the excitement in her eyes that constantly looked at a distance, never directly at a person or object. Her hands constantly moved, either gesticulating as she spoke or fiddling with her clothing. She certainly seemed harmless, though.

"Mr Destler said he taught you to play," Sophie said, finally catching her attention. Christine blinked a few times and then smiled gently.

"He helped me, I suppose."

"Then you _can_ play!"

With that, Sophie began tugging at her elbow again, nudging her way through a small gathering of people towards the old keyboard. It didn't seem much different at all from the one in Meg's room, and Christine felt a sense of ease at the familiarity. Sophie quickly pushed her into one of the two brightly coloured seats, sitting immediately beside her and watching with a large smile on her face. Christine stared back for a moment before noticing that it was not only Sophie staring; already a few more of the patients seemed to have seen the girl's excitement and had turned their attention towards the pair. She smiled nervously at those closest before she surveyed the different switches and options available. _On… turn down the volume… instrument… piano._

Smiling briefly again at Sophie, Christine took to the instrument and began to play. It was nothing particularly special, nor anything that particularly needed any skill. _Hush Little Baby_. Something familiar and safe, to sate Sophie's curiosity. It certainly worked, as within a few moments Sophie was resting her head on Christine's shoulder and those within a small radius of the keyboard were hushed into either whispers or silence. Christine saw one of the nurses working in the room look over and nod approvingly before she continued her work.

"It's so pretty," Sophie whispered as if they were trying to keep quiet.

"Thanks."

"Did Mr Destler teach you that one?"

"No, he didn't."

"Will you play anything he did teach you?"

"Would you like me to?"

"Oh, yes please! What did he teach-"

"I think you've questioned her enough, Sophie."

Christine almost stopped playing as she heard that voice once more, but had learnt well enough to continue playing or singing no matter how much Erik interrupted her. Sophie nodded eagerly and stood up, moving in front of Erik who glanced briefly towards Christine as she played. He then returned his attention to Sophie who stared up at him patiently.

"We shall continue talking later, child."

"Yes, Mr Destler," Sophie replied before bounding off, laughing gleefully to herself as she continued her explorations.

Erik took the seat beside Christine, looking utterly out of place on bright green plastic, but most certainly calmer than he had been not very long ago. He took no time in playing alongside her, counter parting her melody with the deeper notes. Christine tried to continue looking down, but found herself momentarily staring up at him with the same childishly expectant expression she saw on Sophie's face.

"She seems rather fond of you."

"She is," Erik replied. "Believe it or not, she was quite mute before I spoke to her."

"Then she is one of your _patients_?"

"Only in a madhouse," he said with a small smile. He looked down at her without any hint of even remembering the outburst.

"I'm sorry," Christine said quietly, turning her attention back to the keys.

"So am I."

"What do you want me to?" she whispered, finding that she was slowly losing her voice as her throat closed. There was a small pause.

"Without a marriage, what would force you to remain faithful to your visitation promises?"

"We lived together for a year."

"That means nothing to me."

"I know… I just thought that marriage wouldn't mean anymore."

There was that dreaded pause again.

"You… you won't leave him, will you?"

"No."

"Then… I can't stop you."

"And you'd still want to be married?"

"Yes."

Christine was silent for a moment before looking up towards Erik who still stared at her, his fingers detached to him and playing a melody by themselves. With a small smile, she nodded.

"Okay."

And that was enough for him.

The melody finished, and a small patter of applause sounded.


	20. Chapter 20

**I want to apologise for this being later than I'd expected... hectic week of exam results and the like. Worth it though, going to Uni at last in September ^_^ Now I'm just waiting on my letters about accommodation, as currently have no idea where I'll be living in four weeks, so I may be a while on the next chapter due to organisational stress. I'd like to also apologise about this one being so short. I mean, I wanted it to be short, but considering the wait I put you guys through I will apologise anyway :D Enjoy!**

Christine clutched her cheek, breathing heavily as Liam, the Bill Sykes to her Nancy, shuffled off stage with a grumble. It had taken months to perfect that scene; Christine had always flinched or ducked when they had to rehearse that slap. Somehow she always forgot that it was just acting. Slowly, she walked downstage, eyes cast down towards the floor as she did so. The lights were far too bright to see the audience staring back at her, and it was just the way she liked it.

_As long as he needs me… Oh yes he does need me_

_In spite of what you see… I'm sure that he needs me_

Gently, she sat down, shifting the layers of skirts that made up the majority of her costume. Christine kept her eyes lowered, her hands gently tugging the shawl around her shoulders, her feet rested on the step below the stage.

_Who else would love him still… When they've been used so ill?_

_He knows I always will… As long as he needs me_

The strangest thing was to know that she was being watched by faces she herself could not see. Raoul and Meg had both come to this, the first show, despite their constant teasings about Christine's role. Of course, they could not be kept away. Christine could not be more glad that she could not see either of them. She doubted she would have been able to keep a straight face if she met either of their eyes, and pushed the image of their faces out of her mind. It certainly wasn't doing any good for her concentration at that moment.

_I miss him so much when he is gone_

_But when he's near me, I don't let on_

She looked up then, veering only slightly from the source of the light that shone on her. Christine felt her eyes tearing up as her voice swelled with a forlorn emotion she could not explain. It was one that Erik had taught her, of course. Each emotion and each note that poured from her lips was one that Erik had taught her…

_The way I feel inside… The love I have to hide_

_The hell! I've got my pride… As long as he needs me_

Oh, if only Erik could see her now. Hear her sing the way that he had taught her, not only with her voice but with her soul. The tears ran freely, never once clouding her song, though. She was twice as blind now but did not care. All that mattered was the song, that she sang onwards. And sing she did, never under the illusion that the song was for her. It was not for her, just as it was not for this audience. It was for Erik.

_He doesn't say the things he should_

_He acts the way he thinks he should_

_But all the same, I'll play… This game his way_

Christine closed her eyes, blocking out the light, her head swimming. Each note gave a new wave of fear that she might not make it, that she might waver or breath in the wrong moment. She pushed past, though, always making it to the next word, refusing to falter. Beneath the skirts, Christine could feel her knees tremble as the effort took hold of her body. Of course, she knew that this effort was not needed. No one would care if she faltered, no one would care if something went wrong.

It was simply the determination Erik had inspired in her.

_As long as he needs me… I know where I must be_

_I'll cling on steadfastly…As long as he needs me_

The lights were dimmed, only the spotlight shining brightly now. It circled her, forcing her isolation on the stage. Still, she could not see, that one light being all that was needed to blind her from the world. It seemed almost painfully garish from her perspective.

_As long as life is long… I'll love him right or wrong_

_And somehow I'll be strong… As long as he needs me_

Slowly she stood, looking directly at that light. It forced her tears to melt, trailing down her cheeks. Christine hoped for a moment that it would not leave trails of make up, but in the end did not care. Erik would not mind if it did, he would see nothing. At times, Christine believed he would go blind as his senses concentrated only on the aural. Knees still trembling, Christine moved backwards, careful not to stumble. The light moved with her.

_If you are lonely, then you will know_

_When someone needs you, you love them so_

In the centre of the stage, there was no one who could not see her. The audience stared up at her, and a crowd of people waited in the wings watching her. Though she hated to admit it, Christine revelled in this attention, knowing that not one of them would deny the power in her voice. Erik had ensured that she would never be able to stoop lower than perfection. In a way, she truly hated it.

_I won't betray his trust_

_Though people say I must_

She hated to feel so proud.

_I've got to stay true just_

Though she knew that Erik would be.

_As long as he needs me_


	21. Chapter 21

Over the next few days, Christine's health was risen back to its usual state, though she did not often display any signs of said health. Yes, her colour returned, and her eyes no longer looked as glazed, but Erik could rarely force her to move or speak. He did not panic, of course. Instead, he found himself strangely satisfied, as if he did not notice her almost comatose state. For days, it did not bother him at all. He enjoyed the freedom it gave him to fuss her, to care for her as she had disallowed him for so long. From feeding her, reading to her, washing away the sweat when she came down with another bout of fever. Erik had never felt quite so needed.

Soon the thrill wore off, though. Erik no longer savoured that dependency and was almost frightened of it. Her limp body no longer called out for protection, it only wanted solitude. Her voice was no longer choked and silent due to fatigue, instead it was simply reluctant. No, she did not need him. It was a swift realisation that Erik had simply been imagining the whole thing, and it almost killed him.

However, he moved on, knowing that whether or not Christine knew it, she was still in need of attention. Erik still cared for her, ensuring her recovery, and eventually found a point at which her health was evident despite her lacking spirits. He had learnt Christine was slowly becoming used to her surroundings again, as if recovering from shock. She still did not speak, nor did she willingly allow eye contact between the two of them, but when Erik requested it she would respond. Move her head, sit up, hold his hand or permit a small kiss to wherever he so desired. Her hand, her cheek, or her forehead. He had never quite dared to kiss her anywhere else.

"Would you be able to move, my dear?"

Christine nodded.

"You've been up here for far too long, I should like to see you downstairs. You need to move."

Christine nodded.

She permitted him to take hold of her hands, guiding her from the bed. It was a slow process, her legs weakened from the lack of use. She did not complain, however, not even wincing as her ankles seemed close to collapsing beneath her. No, Christine was far too stubborn for that, Erik thought to himself. She only stared forward tiredly.

"Are you able to walk now, my dear?"

Christine nodded.

Erik did not let go of her hands as they walked down the stairs. He was half tempted to carry her down, but Christine was swift in placing a hand on the banister, making it clear that she would continue this walk. They were quite alone, the others within the house all working away at some task or another. The staircase was cleared, and Christine waited patiently to be guided elsewhere. _The music room_. Erik had not set foot in it since that dreadful day, but it seemed the perfect place to bring her. Quiet. Isolated. Musical.

He stood her in the centre of the room, knowing that she would not wander to sit nor follow him if he moved. Not that he moved far, of course. Only a step or two, just to survey his wife.

_His wife_.

Erik never grew tired of thinking the two words over and over in his mind. What a pretty wife she was, as well! Quite fresh looking, any trace of fatigue washed away along with the illness. Mary had been given permission to enter the room only to help the girl bathe, and now her hair hung in thick locks around her shoulders. She wore a clean white dress, the skirt swathed around her calves. Yes, she certainly looked a very pretty bride indeed. His own, living bride.

"My Christine," he breathed, unable to help himself in that moment of ill-placed pride.

Christine said nothing.

"Will you not speak to me, my dear?" Erik asked tentatively, leaning forward slightly. "I'd be very glad if you did."

Christine looked up at this, though her eyes were still distant.

"Perhaps you would not like to talk, then? Would you prefer to sing?"

This seemed to catch Christine's attention, though she did not smile. Instead, she looked at Erik with a strange emotion in her eyes, and after a moment he could sense the effort that was welling up inside of her.

"Yes," she croaked, her voice raw from the lack of use. Hearing it, she cleared her throat, swallowing thickly. "Yes, I would," she repeated, far clearer now. Erik was quite prepared to sing for joy, but settled for only a small smile before he moved to the piano.

"I don't think that you would quite enjoy this," Erik mused aloud, seeing his work still there at the stand. "No, no, it wouldn't do. No, you would prefer some Mozart, wouldn't you Christine? Of course you would say yes- it's the only composer I think you remember! Ha ha! Come forward, Christine, my dear, you needn't be shy. Perhaps- a duet? No, you are not quite ready, I think. But we will make you ready."

Quickly, Erik set to work on travelling through the scales with her, and obediently Christine followed. She sang each note, from one octave to another. It was perfect. Yes, every note was absolutely perfect in pitch. Yet Erik frowned slightly, his excitement wearing thin as Christine sang these simple little notes. Abruptly, he grew bored of it, slamming his fingers to the keys and halting them.

"My my, Christine- you certainly do remember my lessons, don't you? But no, I tire of hearing you sing so heartlessly, you shall have to liven yourself! Come, you enjoy Mozart, I know you do. I shall simply find… the page… aha! Here, Christine dear, begin here."

He tapped the page lightly once and then commenced with the introduction to the aria. And once more, she sang for him! And once more, Erik frowned. Christine continued singing nevertheless, each note as pitch perfect as the one that proceeded it. She certainly was quite well learned in these notes.

Erik could not smile any longer, though. He felt the tendons in his neck tighten as he refrained his outburst of panic. Oh, what had happened to his swallow's song? Christine did not seem to notice his panic and continued on with that God awful singing of hers. So perfectly clinical. So wondrously heartless! So magnificently unremarkable! Erik continued playing, praying to some unknown deity that she should learn to find her way back to the music she had oh so recently started to learn. If it were possible, she seemed to have devolved from the time he had brought her here.

At least, in those days, there had been a passion.

The song finished, and almost immediately the melody was replaced by a long, drawn out moan. Christine stepped backwards as Erik slumped forwards, his hands shaking in his panic. The room was silent, though Erik could quite clearly hear a ringing in his ear, coupled with Christine's song still echoing in his mind. Finally he turned his head, those amber eyes darkening.

"Christine…"

"Was it not good, Erik?" Christine asked. There was no panic in her voice, only a quiet curiosity. As if she were nothing more than a student! A little school girl, not the woman before him.

"Oh, Christine, what has been done to you?" he asked, the devastation clear. "Did you die while I cared for you? Or is this a punishment?"

"Punishment?"

"Do you detest me so deeply that you would taunt me with your soul and snatch it away? You sang with no soul just then, Christine!"

"I don't understand," Christine said, still quite calm, though she retreated another step. "I sang the song. Did I not sing it well?"

"No, Christine, you sang it perfectly I suppose."

"Then what is the matter, Erik?"

"You were not here when you sang that song, Christine!" he said, standing now with a strange, wild look in his eyes. "Where were you? Asleep? Across those fields? Because I sensed nothing of you when you sang."

"I did not know that I was meant to be here," Christine replied, only quite suddenly gaining his meaning of the whole thing.

"Of course you must! We would have been gone for quite some time had this all been about notes, Christine- I daresay we could have done quite some good! I did not bring you hear to teach you that which you could learn from any weekly tutor. I brought you hear to cultivate you, Christine! To draw out your being into your voice!"

"I'm sorry, Erik." Oh yes, Erik was quite sure she meant it. Her tone was very sincere. Though she had the audacity to say it when he knew very well that _she was not there_!

"You are not sorry," he spat, stepping forward, closely enough that he was forced to look down at her. "What has happened to you?"

"I'm just doing what you want me to do," Christine said, slowly a sign of panic rising in her voice.

Erik softened slightly, relaxing his posture and giving Christine a small smile. He reached out and gently brushed her hair, stroking it as if she were a small pet.

"Then we need only try again, don't we?"

Christine nodded, but seemed no more at ease than before. Erik returned to the piano and sat, tapping again on the page to catch Christine's attention. She moved forward, nodded, and continued to sing when the accompaniment played. However hard he tried to interpret some emotion in her voice, Erik found himself trailing off and eventually stopping the music once more.

"You're not trying."

"I'm sorry."

"Stop being sorry if you don't intend to try," Erik said a little louder than he had intended.

"But I am trying."

"And you are _failing,_" he said, stressing each word.

Once again, Christine was silent.

"Did I take you from your room too quickly? You are still ill."

Christine shook her head emphatically, her hair bouncing at her shoulders though her eyes still remained cast downwards.

"You mustn't silence yourself, Christine. Ah- you're keeping it inside, aren't you? You select your mutism as well as your emotions, eh? Christine, speak when you are spoken to."

"I-" she croaked, but swallowed thickly and shook her head again.

"Then I must assume that you are still quite ill, Christine. Otherwise you are simply being tempestuous, though I believe you are past that. Had you the effort to purposefully irritate me, I think you might have had the effort to show it when you sang. Come, that seems like enough exertion for one day considering your state of health."

After a short pause, Christine nodded, accepting her defeat. She looked up towards Erik, a poignancy in her gaze that made him pause momentarily. She swallowed thickly, shaking slightly before she extended her hand to him, her palm turned upwards as if waiting for his.

Erik did not like the idea of showing his shock, though he was certain that he could not hide it. He stared at that hand, waiting for him, _asking for him. _She had, at last, taken a step in approaching him. Christine waited quite patiently for him to take hold of her hand, guide her away as he usually did. Instead, he only stared, perhaps for a few seconds or perhaps for a few hours. Though Christine could see no importance in reaching out, Erik had been rendered frozen.

At least, he thawed, and looked up abruptly back to Christine's face, meeting her eyes directly.

"Follow me," he said, moving past her and opening the door, waiting for her to follow.

Christine only stared back in return, her hand lowered ever so slightly as her disbelief took hold. She had begun to tremble quite horribly, and Erik quite correctly feared she might faint.

"But I- thought-" she whispered, turning fully to him, though stumbling a little as she did so. Erik moved forward ever so slightly, seeing that she was close to collapsing.

"Christine-"

"What do you want?" she managed to murmur before falling to the floor, unconscious before she hit the ground.

Erik caught her head just in time, kneeling beside her as he quickly surveyed her responses. Her pulse was still there, she seemed only to be tired. For this, he breathed a sigh of relief, and remained in the position for some time, cradling his poor Christine as he had so many times during her bouts of fever. Not that she knew, of course. Not that she ever would.


	22. Chapter 22

**A/N- Right. Well. I never understood how people could get distracted for such long periods of time, but it happened. Basically, over the past three or so weeks I've been busy packing, moving, getting used to my new apartment, I've just had a minimal attention span. It doesn't help that this chapter is mostly filler, I'm not feeling it too much yet. I just wanna get back to my ErikxChristine scenes XD Severe apologies for FILLER**

**Hope that you all understand! This is also the reason why some of you whose fan fictions I've been reading haven't heard much. I just haven't had the time/consciousness to read them. I promise, though, that I'll get around to it, I just have a lot on :P**

Raoul could not help but stare curiously as Christine spoke to the two men who had been in quite a hurry to speak to her. He did not know how they had made it into the cast party, as they didn't seem to have come with anyone. Christine listened to them, nodding every so often, though Raoul noticed that she seemed utterly out of it as they spoke. He was tempted to walk over and break it up before one of the men handed Christine a card, the two smiling once more before disappearing back into the crowds of the room. Christine stared into space for a few moments before she felt Raoul's hand on her shoulder, his eyes curious.

"Well?" he asked, handing her the drink he had been holding for her. "What did they want?"

"They… were in the audience tonight," she said, her brow furrowed a little, still dazed. "They said they really liked it. Like, _really_ liked it."

"And…"

"And they gave me this card," she continued, handing Raoul a small piece of card. He frowned as he took it, looking over the words. Christine's smile grew as the memory of her conversation finally dawned on her and Raoul began to read the words.

"They're agents?"

"Uh-huh."

"They're offering to be your agents?"

"Yep."

"And they're… agents?"

"Raoul, they're agents."

"I know."

"Then why did you keep asking?"

They both laughed loudly before Christine wrapped her free arm around his neck pulling him in for a tight hug.

"Oh! Oh, promise me you won't tell Carla, Raoul. She already has it in for me."

"Be extra nice to me and I won't have to tell her," Raoul replied, kissing the tip of her nose.

"Don't tell her and I _will_ be extra nice to you."

Again, they both laughed, though Christine did scan the room briefly for Carla's presence. Seeing that she had disappeared for the time being, Christine quickly relaxed, spending her evening under Raoul's arm, nodding along to any conversation that came her way and giving very generic 'thank you's to those who complimented her performance. There was little depth to their appreciation and Christine began to feel that there was no use in giving depth to her response.

The after-party eventually ended, and it was with the brightening of the lights and the movement of the other, now rather sluggish attendees, that Christine noticed Raoul's intoxicated state. She could not help but laugh at him a little, always having found him rather sober whenever they drank before. The arm that had been holding her before seemed to now be using her as a support of sorts. Raoul seemed to still be in quite good spirits, barely noticing his own state.

"You're ratted," Christine said as she finished calling for a taxi, smiling at Raoul who laughed in return.

"No idea what you're talking about," he said, though Christine suspected that the fact had dawned on him as well.

"How much did you even drink?"

"A bit."

"A lot?"

"A lot."

"Well, I'm not leaving you alone in that taxi to get to yours," Christine declared, leaning against the wall Raoul had chosen as his resting place. "Mama Valerius won't mind if you stay over I guess."

"That sounds like a proposition."

"Yeah, well, it isn't."

"You're far too good to me."

"I know I am," Christine said, her smile spreading slightly. "I'm going to have so much fun reminding you of this tomorrow."

"I'm not _that_ bad."

"Say that with your eyes open and I might believe you."

Raoul shook his head, more content to remain rested. Amused, Christine leant her head against his shoulder, wrapping her arms around his waist as they waited. A few people passed by them, waving their goodbyes and sending a few more congratulations on the performance. She barely noticed, however, instead engrossed in the isolation the two found.

Eventually the taxi came, Raoul attempting to act the gentleman by letting her enter first, though falling in head first moments later. The two found themselves in peals of laughter, undistracted by the taxi driver's stare. He developed a fascination with her hands, kissing the fingers and staring at her hands carefully. Christine simply watched him, amused by this newfound love he had gained. _Really, he's quite a charming drunkard_.

The silent spell of his enamoured state was broken when they arrived at Christine's home, Raoul immediately returning to an almost goofy smile and careless movements. Christine briefly worried about waking Mama Valerius but seemed to be quite safe, rushing to force Raoul to bed before he could be a nuisance.

"Stop _panicking_," Raoul said in an exaggerated whisper when Christine closed her door. He slumped heavily onto the bed, kicking off his shoes. "It's late, she won't notice me."

"I don't like taking risks," Christine sighed, kicking off her own shoes before taking the place beside Raoul. He was swift, even in his state, to wrap his arms around her waist and nuzzled her neck, humming a small little ditty as Christine laughed, wrapping her own arms around his neck.

"You fiend," she giggled, still keeping a check on her volume. "I'm a married woman!"

It was a joke that they had used often. Perhaps in bad taste, Christine had mused once or twice, but it nevertheless made the subject easier to swallow. He smiled slightly at the words, though perhaps as not clearly as he usually did. Christine's head hit the pillow and her hand absent-mindedly found its way to clutching Raoul's while he seemed to simply rest there beside her, as if thinking.

"You _are_ a married woman."

"I know, Raoul."

"It's strange."

"We've been over this," Christine said, a little quieter, loosening her grip on his hand slightly.

"_He_ taught you to sing like that."

"Yeah."

"Right," he said, wrapping his arms around her waist and holding her tightly. Christine looked at him for a moment before mimicking the action to him.

"What's the matter?"

"Nothing."

"Raoul…"

"You got that agent thing 'cause of him," Raoul said. "Getting successful because of him."

"So?"

"So… well, so you're gonna be thinking of him."

"I can't help that."

"I don't have anything to do with it."

"So?"

"_He_ does."

Christine paused and shifted slightly, holding him tighter.

"You're part of it too."

"I'm not."

"Course you are. You love me, right?"

"Yeah."

"And I love you. And you're gonna be there when… if this stuff works out. Right?"

"Yeah," Raoul murmured, though he seemed to be drifting. Christine smiled. _Then he's not as worried._

"Whatever happens, you'll still be there." Half a statement. Half a question.

But he did not answer.

He had already fallen to sleep, still holding her tightly in his arms.


	23. Chapter 23

**A/N- A quick message to a couple of anonymous reviewers :D**

**To Hello- I'm glad you're enjoying it and there shall of course be plenty of Erik. I love writing him and I'm glad you like reading him, he won't be abandoned ****:)**

**To Hannah Andersen- Again, glad you're enjoying it :D Although I'm sticking to the characters used in the book rather than the musical, not such a fan when it comes to Lloyd Webber. But if this story's being enjoyed by people who like a range of Phantomy goodness then I'm seriously over the moon ^_^**

**ON WITH THE SHOW**

_I remember… fainting_.

That was all at first. Christine felt the pain in her head swell slightly, forcing her to distract herself. She tried to remember more. That hadn't been the end of it, had it?

_No. I woke up along the way, right?_

Yes, that seemed correct. Christine vaguely remembered returning to consciousness as she was carried back upstairs, though was certain that _he_ never looked at her. Oh, yes, he was aware that she was awake. He was aware that he could have spoken to her, set her down or even just glanced at her. But he didn't.

He had instead set her back on her bed, and left.

The fear and panic that came with being left alone again began to eat away at her. It seemed as if Erik could not be appeased. Such a long time had passed… and yet nothing seemed to work. She had tried to fight it, and nothing came of it. Then she had tried to be subdued, to do as he wished. Yet still, it did not work. Any confusion that she had felt before paled in comparison and Christine spent an unknown amount of time sitting there, waiting for something to make sense.

It never did.

And that was when Christine remembered the source of the ever growing pain in her head.

She had dived into the bathroom sporadically, aiming to simply get a drink of water. Stumbling, though, she realised that there was always a way to stop the confusion. True, she had never intended to do it, but… perhaps, it would only be a few strikes against the wall, or the edge of the bathtub… and it would be over.

_And that's why I'm here…_

Christine came to full consciousness at last and tried in vain not to cry out in pain as she felt a wet rag dabbing at the large cut in her forehead. Her eyes flew open and she was surprised to see that Richard was there, leaning over her to clean the cut. She stared at him in confusion for a while before he finally stopped and gave a small smile. Barely visible, but still there.

"Thanks," she said a little hoarsely, amazed that she had the effort to speak at all. His smile widened ever so slightly, but he shook his head, looking to his side. They were not alone, it seemed.

"That will be enough, I think," Erik said levelly. Christine turned to look at him, wincing in pain as she did so. He seemed to notice and stood immediately, directing his attention to Richard. "If you want something to do, then go and help Mary in the library."

"Okay," he replied, giving a small look towards Christine before setting down the rag and bowl. Christine noted that despite his revered manner of speaking about Erik, he seemed to be the only one who did not call him _sir _or _master_. It was not worth questioning, of course.

"Do you enjoy frightening me?"

At this, Christine's gaze became a little sharper, her head turned towards Erik with more certainty.

"What?"

"You must enjoy it. Why else would you do such a cruel and selfish thing?"

She could not reply.

"Have I treated you so badly, Christine? I have not starved you, nor left you without sufficient company, nor purposefully harmed you. Yet still you wish to…"

They only stared at each other for a short amount of time, in which Christine realised that there was truly nothing she could say. She felt her eyes water, though it was the physical pain that damned her rather than any sort of emotion for the man. There was no reason to pity him in that moment when he could not bring himself accept her kinder mannerisms. When at last she did open her mouth as if to speak, all that she could summon was a deep sigh that showed no signs of hiding her pain.

"Please," she whimpered, "it hurts."

"It was a horrible blow to the head, Christine. It will hurt."

"I-is there nothing for it?"

"No."

She was quite sure he was lying.

"Do you feel mistreated, Christine?"

Christine shook her head, never letting her eyes leave his. She expected that at any moment the level nature of his voice would give way and he would return to shouting, to some form of unbearable anger.

"Then why, Christine?"

"You frightened me," she said weakly.

"And how, pray tell, does this excuse you?"

"I-I was trying to be polite," Christine said, struggling through the words as the movement made her head thump away in pain. "I tried to do what you told me to do, and you still didn't like it. I just didn't know what to do."

Erik paused, taking in the words. Eventually he moved, sitting beside her on the bed, staring as if to figure out how to react. Still, Christine did not look away.

"And that frightened _you_?" Erik asked quietly.

Again, she nodded.

"It is no excuse."

"But… why? What do you want me to do?"

"I wish only for you to be yourself."

"But I was, and you didn't like it."

"You are not excused."

With that, Christine finally looked away, wishing dearly she could move freely without the pain, if only to cover her tears. She wept silently for a while, staring up at the ceiling if only to pretend that she did not have company, that she was alone in her misery. But she could not go on without the reminder of his presence. As she cried, she felt the bed beneath her shift until he leant over her, stroking the hair from her face and staring down with an almost sickeningly _loving_ expression, or at least as loving as she could see with the mask in the way. The sight was almost too much to bear, but she allowed it until he moved to hold her, trying to embrace her. _No. You can't_.

"Don't touch me!" she cried shrilly, trying to shift away but only succeeding in causing herself more pain. Erik froze, as if new to her revulsion.

"Come now, Christine, you mustn't act so childish."

"I don't want you to touch me," Christine said, her tears running all too freely, her voice cracking. "Please, just don't."

There came that silence again that Christine was all too familiar with. It would either lead to anger, melancholy, or pleading. In any case, she had never found it pleasant.

"The touch of _death_ is only to be accepted when you choose, then? You were quite happy to embrace it before… but now that it has a face, a body, you reject it?"

"You're not death," Christine said, confused at his ranting. "I _want_ death. I can't make you happy, which means there's nothing I'm here for, and if I'm here for no reason then I might as well _die_!"

Immediately upon saying the words, Christine knew that she had done wrong. He stood slowly, his eyes wide as if scared yet burning with anger. In response, Christine could feel herself trying to sink further into the bed, yet found herself paralysed.

"Then you would rather die?" he asked, no hint of calm left there. Christine heard the rising anger, the disbelief. "You would rather die than remain here with me?"

She tried to reply, of course, but no words came forth. It didn't matter. He had already deciphered the silence.

"You've decided then? Is that what you want?"

_He's going to kill me_.

"Is that what you want, Christine?" Erik asked forcefully, looking quite ready to pounce and do the deed. "To die? Now?"

"If you're gonna do it then just _do it_!" Christine groaned, though she could feel the desperation wavering.

"Fine." Clipped. Quiet. _Frightening_. "You wish to experience death? Have it your way."

He was quick to move and Christine cried out in surprise, feeling him grapple against her. It took her a moment to realise that she had begun to fight in defence. _No! I'm meant to be the one that does it, you don't have that right!_ He fought against her, finally hooking his arms under hers and dragging her from the bed. Christine kicked out, only succeeding in hitting her heels against the floor over and over again, the pain shooting up her legs. It didn't matter. All that mattered was fighting. For however long it would take.

With ease, Erik had already dragged her from the bedroom, down the hallway. Despite her fighting, Christine paused within her mind if only for a moment, wondering who would stop him if he were to kill her now. The servants barely seemed to care that she had been kidnapped in the first place. She doubted they would put up much more of a fuss to their master if she died.

"There is no turning back now," Erik said under his breath, the words appearing in almost a growl. Christine struggled one last time as one of the arms snaked tightly around her waist, the other moving to open a door that she had not realised they had paused at. It was then that she knew

She recognised this door all too well.

_His door_.

The door was swung open and Christine was frozen with fear when she saw that bed once more, still there in the middle of the room. His bed. The last bed anyone would find themselves in. The true horror sank in entirely when she found herself lifted, carried towards that dreadful resting place. Immediately she began thrashing once more, kicking out and screaming as loudly as her voice would allow. Erik's grip was strong, though, and he seemed to barely notice her attempts as he forced her into the coffin, leaning over and pinning her into the confined space.

"A taste of death," he said quietly, almost inaudible over Christine's high pitched screams. She continued to fight, the adrenalin of fear forcing her to continue. "Is it all you could dream of? Everything you desired?"

"I'm sorry!" Christine screamed, feeling her body convulse, jerking forward as the fear rendered her helpless. "I won't- I- won't-"

"Won't be doing silly things like that again?"

"N-no!"

"Won't be frightening your poor Erik so horribly?"

"N-no, I- I-"

The words were lost. Only a rasping, heavy breathing as her body succumb to the last dregs of fearful energy, slumping at last into the satin lining of the coffin as if she were quite prepared to rest there. The world disappeared and reappeared every so often, the only constant being Erik's face staring down at her, those eyes revealing nothing as to his feelings towards her state. Yet she was quite sure that there was condemnation there. Of course, she deserved this. To frighten him like that… she deserved it in his eyes.

Vaguely, Christine was aware of being moved once more. Gentle arms held her that could not possibly belong to the same person who had had her pinned down, kicking and screaming for her life. She was not moved far, only to the floor where Christine felt her head fall against Erik's shoulder, his embrace cold and awkward, yet determined in holding her close.

"You've learnt your lesson now, haven't you?" Erik asked in a quiet whisper, putting a hooked finger to her chin and lifting it, looking down with a small, eerie smile. Christine shivered. _It didn't seem…right_. "You know now it _isn't_ what you want."

No reply. Only a slack, tired expression could be summoned.

"You will thank me for this one day, you know?" Erik said gently, tapping her nose as if she were a child. "I've saved your life."

In a way, it was true. And that was the fact that made Christine break down once more. She fell again into the familiar tears, the all too well known sobs that, no matter how hard she tried, she could not halt. Erik only reacted with a quiet hushing, rocking back and forth in a soothing motion. Far too soothing in the end. With a helpless cry amongst her sobs, Christine turned her head towards Erik's shoulder, ignoring the brutal jutting of his bones, and clung tightly to his shirt like an infant.

"Hush, child, it's over. You no longer need to be afraid, you are safe. While I am here, you are always safe."

_Liar_.

He seemed truly to believe it, though. Erik's small smile could be sensed quite easily, despite the fact that Christine could not see it. Of course, he would be finding comfort in the whole ordeal. To leave her so vulnerable to his touches, unable to move away and unable to stand being left alone again.

He had certainly succeeded.


	24. Chapter 24

**A/N- Again, I can't really excuse my long absence. The best I can come up with is 'majorly over thinking everything I do, and getting irritatingly stressed over it'. The next two chapters are stupidly short compared to what I like to upload, so I thought I'd upload them both at the same time, just to try and make up for lost time.**

"In her sleep. That's a good way to go, right? I think that's how she would have wanted it. She'd be happy that that's what she got."

Raoul nodded, though he was not sure what to say. He was not there to talk, only to comfort. One arm wrapped around her shoulders, the other carrying an umbrella. Just in case.

"That's the way I'd want to go. When it happens. In my sleep. It sounds peaceful."

The rain seemed to have held off quite nicely for Mama Valerius's funeral. Her health had been steadily declining for a few years, the first signs taking place perhaps a year after Christine's return. The decline had been slow, and for the most part painless, making the entire process far easier than they had even dared hope for. In fact, it had all been so gradual that Christine had barely had the ability to comprehend it, as if she had been prepared by the whole ordeal. The funeral was small, with only a small number of close relatives that Christine had never met before attending, alongside herself, Raoul, and Meg who had arrived alone, despite her swollen belly.

"Paul wanted me to send his apologies," Meg said gently when she first arrived, clasping Christine's hand in her own. "He's just been working over time lately, y'know?"

Christine could not honestly say that she had been surprised when Paul and Meg had first announced they were _official_, as they put it. Even the announcement of a baby hadn't been surprising, despite their still unmarried status.

"He doesn't like the idea of living with mum," Meg had explained to Christine. "Just doesn't seem right to him. It's just gonna wait a bit."

The funeral procession was over, and a short reception was held at the local pub, though not many had the idea of drinking on their minds. No one had much conversation to give and so many left, Christine and Raoul departing as early as they could. There was no use in staying behind. They had already paid Mama Valerius her dues.

"Down, Sacha," Christine said quietly as they walked into their flat, immediately pounced upon by what they now dubbed the _family dog_. Raoul had bought her as an early birthday present only a month before the funeral, and she had certainly been a comfort. For the time being, though, Christine could not summon the energy to play with the young pup as she usually would, instead heading for the couch and sitting on it lazily, staring off into space.

"Christine?" Raoul asked, picking up the cocker spaniel that was still small enough to be easily moved about. "Is there anything I can get you? A cup of tea or something?"

"Tea sounds good," she replied with a small smile. Looking up, she saw Sacha writhing about in Raoul's arms, trying to leap out, and reached out her own, suddenly feeling quite guilty for ignoring the dog. Raoul lay her in Christine's lap, much to their joint pleasure, and within moments of ear stroking Sacha had fallen soundly asleep.

"It's been a long day," Raoul mused out loud as he organised the cups.

"Very."

"You sure you're alright? Anything else you need?"

"I'm fine," she replied, looking through to the kitchen. "Really, I am. It was easier than I thought. At least I can still come home to you and the hairy baby."

"She's got your hair," Raoul laughed, shaking his head.

"Funny, she eats just like you," Christine retorted, smiling down at the puppy once more. She was a nice distraction to have about the flat.

It had been five years since Christine had returned to reality. She had never quite gotten used to the idea of time moving about her so naturally, people moving on as if nothing had ever happened. Meg continued her life, getting engaged and pregnant. Mama Valerius had passed on, though her last years on Earth had been just as those that preceded them. Nadir had moved onto other work, Antoinette continued to look after her daughter, Carla continued in small time theatre, Phillipe eventually married. The only constant had been Raoul. Always there, always doting, whenever she needed him. It was only one of the many reasons she quite honestly felt that she loved him beyond all compare.

Erik could not be said to have changed. Neither could he be a constant as Raoul was. While he still remained a martyr to whatever illness ran through his head, refusing treatment or therapy, he had somehow grown in his ability to aid the other patients in the hospital. Little Sophie had created quite a devotion to him and, despite the fact that she had not been what the doctors would have like to call cured, she seemed to flourish under his instruction.

However, it did not do Christine well to think of Erik at time such as these. No, not with Raoul there, present and able to see the worry etched on her face. She put him out of her mind and smiled happily when Raoul returned with a warming cup, kissing his cheek in thanks. He held out a wad of envelopes that had been waiting on the counter.

"All yours. Wish I got your mail, mine always end up being bills."

"That's what you get for being the rich one," Christine said with a shrug, looking through the papers. They weren't much more exciting than bills. Junk mail, a few charity subscriptions, the like. Eventually there came one that caught Christine's eye. A plain old envelope, with only an official looking stamp on the back to make it any different to other letters.

"Who's it from?" Raoul asked, though he had already seen the stamp signalling the county prison.

"I dunno," Christine said, ignoring the stamp. She gently prised the letter open and stared at the sheets of paper within.

_Mrs. Christine Destler._

_We are writing to inform you of the recent dismissal of Mary Lindon from our detention centre. The previous seven years stated in the sentencing has been reduced for reasons of good behaviour._

_As part of her release, a restraining order has been enforced, a copy of the document being enclosed herein…_

Christine stopped, ignoring the rest of the document, instead handing the pieces of paper over to Raoul slightly listlessly. There was no point in reading on, and after a brief moment of panic Christine thought the words over and smiled to herself. Mary had, after all, always been very kind.

"Oh God," Raoul muttered to himself as he read. He paused and looked up towards Christine concernedly. "You okay?"

"Well, yeah."

"It's gonna be right, you know? Restraining order- didn't know they did that sort of thing, at least-"

"I'm really alright," Christine said, her smile growing slightly in appreciation of his worries. "Really. She's just a kindly older woman, I'm amazed she got that long."

"Kindly?" Raoul asked incredulously, though he was quick to bite his tongue, not wanting to make a fuss.

"I know it seems strange to you but really, she was sweet. She couldn't help what happened."

"If you say so," he relented with a shrug. Raoul had already learnt it was best not to impose on such events. He wrapped an arm around her shoulder, leaving his cup propped on his knee. "It's alright if you're not okay, you know?"

"I know. Really, I'm _fine_."

And truly she was.

"If you say so," Raoul repeated, kissing the top of her head. They did not speak of the letter again, though Christine looked at it left on the table from time to time, just to evoke a small smile at her old acquaintance's freedom. To her guilty success, she tried to avoid thinking of the subject of Erik's own freedom for as long as she could.

The letter remained on the table, ignored for the remainder of the day. They moved about the flat in a dream-like state, unable to concentrate for long, the blow of two such events taking away most of their comprehension. Conversation was mild, mundane, without reason. It was not until they had retired to their bed before structure came into question.

"I have to go back down to London next week," Christine said, almost as if the subject had simply come up at random in her thoughts.

"Oh?" Raoul replied, turning and draping an arm over her stomach. "Why's that?"

"Another audition."

"Do you want me to drive you down?"

"No. No, I'll be fine."

"It'd save you the train fare, you know?"

"I don't mind."

"It'd just be easier."

_If you told him what you were really doing, this conversation would be done with._

"I like the journey," Christine said with a small smile.

_You could still tell him. Tell him who you're visiting._

"If you say so," Raoul replied, leaning forward and giving her a small kiss.

_No. It's been five years. He'd just get angry._

"Thanks anyway." Christine shifted slightly, closing the gap between the two of them and turning so she faced him. "And thanks for today."

"I didn't do anything."

"You did _everything_ today."

"Shush," Raoul said, shaking his head, but unable to stop the small smile of pride. "Will you really be alright?"

"I'm going to be _fine,_ Raoul," Christine replied, almost threatening to laugh with the absurdity of his concern. "Go to sleep."

"If you say so." He flashed another small smile, his arms pulling her ever so slightly closer. Christine revelled for a moment in the warmth, closing her eyes and contemplating the day. In truth, she could do nothing but be happy for the woman she had not seen for so many years. Wrapping an arm across Raoul's waist, she smiled once more and disappeared into a dreamless sleep.


	25. Chapter 25

The clinic was full of the usual buzz that Christine had become accustomed to whenever she came to visit Erik. Even at the entrance, the sound of a child in the distant room laughing could be heard. More often than not, the receptionist would recognise Christine, smile quite politely and wish her a good morning, before returning to her work, knowing that the young woman could find her way quite easily to the room Erik often waited in, never quite able to manage sitting in such a crowded place.

This was not to be one of those days.

"Oh, Christine," said Jennifer, the aging woman behind the reception desk. Christine smiled brightly before noting the slightly worried expression on her face. "We had tried to call…"

"Is something the matter?" Christine asked, still trying to smile.

"Well, no, not anymore, I think. It's just… it was a bad night last night, by the looks of things. Night terrors again, you see?"

Christine nodded, her smile disappearing quite quickly. It had happened before, many a time, both before and in the duration of Erik's stay in the clinic.

"He's still in his room," Jennifer continued, giving a weak smile. "Pretty calm, I suppose, but perhaps it's best if… for now…"

"He's expecting me," Christine said. "I won't disappoint.."

Nodding, Jennifer reached for the phone and quickly dialled for an attendant who would come on days like this to guide her down to Erik's small room. They were quick to arrive, and Christine walked in silence behind them. Each time she visited, she prayed inwardly that Erik would be in some form of good health, knowing that little effort was required on such days. If neither had anything to speak of, there was always music. However today… today would require effort.

Christine could not help but ponder how fragile Erik looked simply laying there on the bed, his eyes closed. She did not know for certain whether or not he was asleep, but in any case she entered the room, secure in the knowledge that someone was always waiting on the other side of the door. It had not been uncommon for him to become somewhat violent if he had been prone to such nightmares. Drawing up a chair beside the bedside, Christine watched him for a few moments, unable to bring herself to wake him.

He still wore his mask. Even in his room, he would wear it. The workers in the clinic had never dared to refuse him the right to wear it, either too scared of what they would see beneath it or simply frightened of some sort of wrath he might impart on them. They too had heard his voice travel across the hallway after them if he were particularly angered, and knew there were things Erik could do that would make little sense to them.

The silence wore on, and before long Christine found herself humming slightly, a small tune that she remembered hearing all too long ago, but always came to the forefront of her mind at moments of silence such as these. As if it were some sort of spell, she saw that Erik began to awaken, the familiar sound rousing him from whatever state he had previously been in. He turned his head ever so slightly, eyes directed towards hers.

"Two months in a row," he said lowly, though there was a small turn in his lips that threatened to betray his delight. "Aren't I fortunate?"

"They told me you've been dreaming again," Christine said softly, moving from her place on the chair and sitting on the edge of the bed beside him. "What happened?"

"If I knew, I should think I would have stopped it." Erik sat up, refusing to allow himself to remain in such a demeaning position. He stared at Christine for a short while, always with the same confusion and hidden appreciation she had seen when she first came to visit years ago.

"What did you dream of?"

"I hardly see the importance in telling you," Erik said levelly.

"There's no importance, it's just a conversation point."

"I dream rarely, and with good reason. I do not want to dwell on them now."

Christine nodded, as if she were able to understand his stance on the subject, but unable to stop her curiosity. It would do no good, of course, to pursue the matter, and so she simply continued to watch Erik, waiting for permission to continue.

"It is rare you visit twice in a row," Erik said almost musingly, trying to keep his voice level. "To what do I owe this?"

"I wanted to speak to you," she replied, offering a small smile. "It's been… a long month."

"Aren't they all?"

"Mama Valerius died."

"Then I am sorry for your loss."

"And I got a letter," Christine continued. "About Mary." At this, Erik seemed to be quite truly curious and he sat a little straighter.

"Oh?"

"She was freed early. Good behaviour."

"The fact they would incarcerate a woman her age to begin with sickens me," Erik spat, the tone increasing the smile on Christine's lips.

"Your concern is almost endearing, Erik."

"You know as well as I do she was harmless."

Christine nodded, smiling slightly.

"She's out now."

"And I suppose never to be seen again."

"Apparently a restraining order's been set up," Christine said with a shrug. "I don't suppose she's allowed here."

"No, I don't suppose so," Erik replied, a somewhat bitter edge in his tone. His gaze was cast away now, distracted, and Christine held back the temptation to reach out for him. It was almost impossible to hold back the immense pity she felt at such times, though she knew it was in neither of their interests for her to get too carried away.

"I got another audition," she said quickly, summoning anything that she could to distract the situation. She could not help but smile brightly as Erik's attention was brought once more from the small seclusion he had created for himself.

"I should hope it isn't another one of those pathetic little jingles," he replied somewhat bitterly, dampening Christine's short burst of high spirits. He had a point, though, she admitted to herself; there was so little to do other than adverts, themes, small things that gained her little reputation.

"It's a little classier than that," Christine said levelly, looking down at her hands. "Some television programme, they want some actress who can't sing apparently and now they want someone to just… y'know, replace the singing," she finished with a shrug. "It's not much. I know it's never much, but it's a start, right?"

"If I weren't in here, you would have no need for such petty projects."

"I know."

Erik's eyes narrowed ever so slightly, a sharp sense of betrayal in his gaze. It was a frequent sight to see, and yet it had never quite lost its sting in Christine's mind.

"It'll happen," Christine said quietly yet determinedly. "I… I get enough to live off. Just by singing. And that's more than I could ever have dreamt of, Erik."

"You dream too soberly."

"It's more than most people can ask for."

"You have been trained in a manner that means you should learn to ask for more," Erik said sternly, as if the matter should be put at rest. Christine nodded and cast her eyes downwards again, smiling slightly at the pride he instilled in her.

"Thank you."

"I won't have you wasting your time with such projects."

"I'll try not to."

"_Try_?"

"Some of us have bills to pay," she said with a shrug. "It's only been-"

"Five years," Erik interrupted, a slight shudder in his speech. His shoulders, previously tense, loosened slightly as he sighed in some sort of loss. "Five _long_ years."

It was almost a too melancholy tone to bear, making Christine look up with ill disguised surprise. True, it was not the first time he had descended into such melancholy, and yet it still hit her with the same sense of pity. Erik looked towards her, and it was in that instance that Christine felt the tears welling up in her eyes. She was quick to pass a hand over her eyes, trying to dry them, but it was too late. The pity was already evident. His hands reached out before she could stop him, the fingertips gently brushed against her jaw line to force her gaze towards him.

"You have no reason to cry for me," he said gently, wiping away a stray tear with his thumb.

"That isn't true. You know I can't do anything but pity you."

"I don't ask for pity."

"I don't ask for the fame you want me to have," Christine said a little shakily, blinking furiously as her tears disappeared. "It'll be alright, you know? We… you didn't work for nothing."

"That isn't for you to decide," Erik said, releasing his touch with a certain reluctance.

"You know I'm trying, right?" For a second Christine paused, realising the eagerness with which she had spoken. It seemed almost too eager. "It's not that… it's not that I don't want those things, 'cause I know you want them. When the chance comes I swear I'll take it, it's just that now…"

"I know," Erik murmured, still maintaining a steady gaze on her. "I do not doubt it."

Unable to help herself, Christine smiled once more, almost grinning with the relief. She truly hated that his approval still held such power over her, yet the sense of happiness that came from it almost gave her reason to forget such hatred. Erik had little else to say, quite content in only watching and waiting for small conversations that Christine was prepared to give, to which Christine was quite happy to oblige.

They were left alone for the remainder of the visiting hours. The isolation came as a comfort to both parties, as Christine knew quite well. Erik, despite his intentions to never let it show, revelled in the chance to spend such time in only her company. Despite her reservations, Christine could not help but delight in the idea of being shut away from prying eyes, as if the lack of witnesses would exempt her from her indulgences.


	26. Chapter 26

He had come one night with the strange air about him that Christine had only seen before in one who was sleep walking. Yet she was quite sure he was conscious, if not in his right of mind. She had been sat at the edge of the bed at the time, reading one of the many books from the library that she had reluctantly delved into, if only to cease the boredom and distract herself. Erik had moved about the house that day as if in a sense of mourning, never speaking a word to anyone even when Christine had given into her worries and begged him to play the piano, teach her something, anything to take him away from the all too disturbing nature with which he had lived the day.

Eventually, too scared to continue watching him, she had fled to her room where she waited.

Christine did not know what time it was when Erik ventured to her room. He gave no warning, and upon seeing the door open Christine flung the book in her hands to the floor, crawling away to the corner of the mattress as far as she could. Seeing that dazed, haunted look in his eye, she could not help but stiffen in slight fear. It was a new sight to see, she had to admit.

"It's late," she said shakily, grasping backwards until she found the bedpost behind her. "What do you want?"

He did not answer directly, instead reaching into his pocket to pull out an item that Christine could not quite see. Her curiosity was brimming, and despite herself she leant forward in an almost child like fashion to gain a closer look. Though it should have made him smile, Christine noted that Erik did not do so, still looking as if into space, yet a purpose still shining through.

Erik approached the bed slowly, not looking away from Christine, the item still concealed in his hand. A small smile playing on her lips, Christine moved forward again, on her knees at the edge of the bed. It was childish, she knew, but the fact that he had finally made the effort to make contact with her after this long, silent day delighted her in a way she could not quite explain.

"What is it?" Christine asked, surprised at her own intrigue. Her eyes moved from his hand that had tightened slightly around the object to his face, which was turned down slightly to watch her. Still dazed, still without any severe level of concentration that would befit the living. "Show me."

"You'll promise to say thank you?" Erik said, his voice still strong and yet his demeanour so young that Christine was mildly surprised.

"Yes, Erik."

"And you will enjoy it?"

"I'm sure I will, Erik, now show me!"

The corner of his lip turned in an absent smile as Erik released his hand, revealing a small glint of gold in his palm. Christine looked down in a small sense of wonder as she looked at the ring that lay there, her smile disappearing as the sense of surprise overtook her. She did not know why, but the idea of a ring had never quite crossed her mind. Quite suddenly she shook her head and looked up towards Erik, smiling as brightly as she could. He had finally found a way of speaking again, and she was reluctant to resort back to the silence. It seemed safest to appease him at this time.

"It's very pretty," she said reassuringly. "You mean it's for me?"

Nodding, Erik held out his other hand, gesturing for hers. Christine obliged somewhat tentatively, not quite sure whether she was glad to accept this gift. She knew that she had no choice, though, and allowed the ring to be slipped onto her finger. There was a moments silence in which Erik only stared down at her hand, a faint glimmer in his eyes telling her that he was waking from his dream like state.

"It was my mother's," Erik said quietly, sombrely. Christine looked up abruptly. He had never spoken of his family before, and she had almost forgotten that he must have had a family at some point.

"Your mother?" Christine asked as nonchalantly as she could, though the clear shock in her expression did nothing but betray her. "Would she mind?"

"Her jewellery was never her highest priority while I existed."

"That sounds lovely," she said with a smile, unable to help but be lifted by the hint of affection. The smile slipped away slowly as Erik's gaze returned to her face, the sight of those mourning eyes sending shivers down her spine.

"Lovely? No. Erik would have begged for simple niceties, and had never quite dreamt of _lovely_."

"But… but I thought you said-"

"She loathed me," Erik interrupted, as if he had tried to bite back the words. "Since Erik was born, there was no room in her except for her fear and hatred."

Christine nodded, unsure of how to respond in a way that would not aggravate him further. Even by this point, his breathing seemed somewhat laboured in a manner that frightened her slightly.

"It's very pretty," Christine repeated in a lame attempt to distract. "Thank you."

At this, it seemed as though Erik was revived somewhat, back straightened slightly. The hint of gratefulness has made him alert, and for a moment Christine wondered if he would somehow be forced into at the very least a smile. He did not seem to have the heart to push such a boundary, instead extending a hand tentatively towards her. It took a moment before Christine realised what it was that he wished, and she lay her left hand in his gently as if she were touching a wild animal.

"You _do_ like it, then?"

"Very much, Erik," Christine said quietly, reluctantly forced by her better self to tell the truth.

The words seemed to inspire enough happiness perhaps not for a smile, but for the drive to make Erik lift the hand to his lips, his head bowed in a prayer like manner. He waited there, simply resting within the safety of that contact, revelling in the touch of skin upon skin. Christine waited for a short while, watching him with a certain wariness that she was quite used to at this point in time. Finally she felt the tears drop to her skin, gentle and bitter.

"Thank you," he murmured, kissing her hand once more in earnest as his other hand snaked around her waist, pulling her closer. Christine could only allow it, unable to find herself surprised any longer yet still curious as to what his intentions were. Her right hand still lay limply by her side, and in an act of compassion that she could not suppress or explain Christine raised it to his shoulder in a half hearted encouragement to his embrace.

"There's no need to cry," Christine whispered, shivering slightly at the sight of this man once more broken before her. She did not know why these moments of compassion or even mild gratitude drove him to tears. True, it was one of the lesser questions running through her mind for the most part, but she had waited through his tears without asking, and now could no longer restrain it.

"Why _do _you cry, Erik?"

He did not stop, nor slow in his tears, but released her hand and placed his against her back, pulling her in closer still. Christine feared that she would be pulled from the bed with the force that he used and so gripped onto his shoulders tightly, eyes widened as his face burrowed into her shoulder. No sounds were made, and for a short while all that there was were the soft feeling of tears.

"You have shown me the only kindnesses I have known, Christine," Erik said eventually, his voice level and calm, strange compared to the tears.

"That's silly, I'm not the only person to do so." For a moment Christine pondered on this; she said the words as if she were comforting a friend, a friend who said something petty in a moment of anger or pain. Yet he always seemed to feel with such earnest that it did not seem like an over reaction.

"Do not underestimate the effect that your words have," he replied after a poignant pause.

"I'm hardly ever kind to you," Christine murmured, though her hands slid from his shoulders about his neck, the mourning in his voice driving her to draw him closer. He always seemed to have such a power in his voice to spur the strangest actions from her.

The change in Christine's hold on him moved Erik to an almost mournful, shaking sigh as he tightened his grip and fell forward. Christine's eyes widened slightly as she felt her back press into the mattress, unsure of how to react. Erik held her closely, his masked face still buried in the crook of her neck as he protectively pinned her to the bed, unmoving for a while as he seemed to revel in the closeness. He remained still for quite some time before the smooth masked nose traced down to her collarbone, the shuddering breath he emitted sending shivers through Christine's skin.

"Erik," she whispered as warningly as she could, frozen in fear and unable to push him away. He did not seem to listen, though, still dazed in his state of dreamlike consciousness. A hand moved its way to nestle in her hair as dry lips gently brushed against her neck, increasing the shivers that now seemed constant.

For a moment Christine could not help but attempt to prepare herself. She had wondered for some time, ever since the moment she signed that slip of paper, if Erik might one night come to collect. It would seem as if it were the obvious thing to do, and yet he had always kept his distance. Until tonight. Uttering a small shaking sigh, Christine stiffened slightly and moved her hands once more, no longer frozen with fear. She placed the heel of her palms firmly against his shoulders, trying to at least push him far away enough to look at her.

"Erik," she whispered once more, trying yet again to be firm despite the quiver in her voice. "You promised me."

At this, finally Erik paused. He looked up, those tired amber eyes looking at her as if suddenly far more conscious of his surroundings than before. He did not move despite the fact that Christine could quite clearly see that he recognised his situation. Perhaps he simply did not believe what he had been doing, or perhaps he had it in his mind to continue. Christine waited as patiently as she could, but could feel her body shaking ever so slightly as the anticipation drew on.

Then there came the swift movement as Erik stood, and before Christine had fully sat up on the edge of the bed he was already by the doorway, still watching her but his posture indicating some form of reluctance, some form of resignation.

"You must always wear that ring," he said quietly, his words sounding far more his own now, rather than his previous dream like quality. "As long as you wear that ring, Erik will always be a doting husband. He will always be wary, and cautious, and loving. As long as you wear that ring."

Christine nodded, not quite fully understanding why he said such things, but knowing it was not best to push such an issue. He looked so shaken that she doubted he would be able to answer any of her questions at that moment in time.

"I'll wear it," Christine said as if to assure him further, as if he needed that encouragement. "I promise."

The slightest ghost of a smile seemed to pass Erik's lips, though he knew now what could happen when he let his happiness come forth. They both knew now. Erik bowed his head ever so slightly before turning again to the door and disappearing without a footstep or a creak, ever the phantom. Christine watched the now closed doorway for some time after that, unsure that she was truly alone. She could never be sure that he was not waiting on the other side of the doorway, listening to her sleep or contemplating entering the room. The lack of certainty had always, and always would continue to put her on edge. Finally, though, the fatigue wore on, and Christine had no choice but to ignore the doorway, and hope for the best.


	27. Chapter 27

**A/N- I definitely won't update again until after Christmas so… MERRY CHRISTMAS. And if you don't celebrate Christmas, MERRY DECEMBER. This chapter's gonna be extremely short in comparison to others, but definitely plays some importance later on so hopefully it'll still be fun in the long run. Okay, none of this is fun, but hopefully it'll be useful in the long run ^_^**

Jennifer watched from her position behind the reception desk as patients walked by, prepared to receive their medication. Some struggled as it were expected, with an orderly hanging on their arms and trying to soothe them into giving in. A good majority were calm, though, looking about or chatting to each other as friends; it was always pleasant to see the close bonds created between patients when there was little other chance to socialise. Not all of the patients, though, seemed to seize the opportunity with such vivacity.

While Sophie, whose strange innocent mannerisms had admittedly captured the staff's hearts, had flourished quite happily under the companionship of her elusive friend, it seemed that the strange masked patient still refused such occasions as this where he might be forced into the group. Jennifer had seen the way that many of the patients stared at his mask, and could not blame the poor, frightening man, and so decided that it was not in her place to push him in the same way that the doctors tried to. It was all in vain; he had an iron will unlike any she had seen before. Even now he sat quite calmly in the visiting centre, tapping out intricate little ditties on the keyboard there, ignoring the fact that he was gathering somewhat of a crowd.

The sound of the phone ringing made Jennifer flinch slightly, caught up in her daydream as she was. She paused a moment, letting it ring thrice, before picking it up and smiling. It always helped her sound far more cheerful. There was little chance to speak, though, as before she could even inhale to speak a voice weakly spoke on the other end.

"It's Christine," said the voice, quivering slightly in a manner that made Jennifer furrow her brow.

"Christine?" The girl had fascinated the staff from the beginning due to her decision to visit her… well, she wished to say husband, but it sounded so strange. "Is everything alright?"

"I need to speak to Erik," Christine said, still quiet, though the shaking in her voice was still quite evident.

"Oh Christine, dear, this is really quite unorthodox," Jennifer chided gently. "It's the middle of the day."

"I just need you to put him on the phone."

"Perhaps if you phone later-"

"I need you to put him on the phone now, please."

"It's medication time, Christine, I'm afraid-"

"He's started taking his medication then?" Christine asked quickly, suddenly intrigued.

A lengthy pause.

"I'll… wait there a moment, then, I'll go and put him on."

Jennifer clucked her tongue as she put Christine on hold, leaving her position at the desk and wandering through to the other room. It was rare that a patient was contacted out of visiting hours, even stranger still considering Christine's often sporadic schedule when it came to visiting.

Erik was at first far too clouded in a state of ignorance he often placed upon himself when it came to such things as _medication time_, and hardly noticed when the receptionist came to seek him out. Only after a few minutes did he realise that Christine's name had been spoken frequently, and he looked up with curious eyes. He only nodded when he finally cleared his head and understood what she was saying, and was silent as he followed her into the reception where he was left to his own doing. Jennifer knew quite well when it was time to leave well enough alone, and she certainly did not think herself curious enough to interrupt their phone call.

"Erik?" Christine's voice sounded slightly erratic when she heard the phone being picked up once more. "Erik, are you there? Is that you?"

"I'm here, Christine," Erik said softly after a lengthy pause, unsure of what to make of her strange behaviour. "Why have you called?"

"I… I needed to talk to someone." She was holding her breath slightly, and Erik was quite sure he could hear the catch in her throat.

"What has happened, Christine?"

"I- nothing- nothing happened, Erik- just-"

"Calm yourself," Erik said firmly, hushing his voice slightly as he looked up to see the small crowd of people still walking by to receive their dosage. "Breath slowly, Christine."

He could hear her controlling her breath on the other end of the line. At least, he could hear her attempting to do so. No matter how hard she tried, it seemed to make things worse.

"We- Raoul, we were… just talking… but then- then-"

"Breath slowly."

It certainly did not work, as within moments Christine's attempt at words had melted into erratic sobs and choked cries. Erik waited patiently for them to pass, his concern roused by the sound of the cries, yet his experience with them proving that it was no good to do anything but wait. Finally, after what seemed like hours, she slowed enough to splutter a few words here and there.

"Raoul- I was- talking and- we fought-"

"Did he do something to you, Christine?" Erik asked with gritted teeth, his imagination running wild as he imagined what could cause such tears.

"N-no, he- he wouldn't do- that! I told him- told him about the- about something, and- it just went- crazy…" She seemed to gasp and hold her breath, repeating the action until finally she could speak without stammering, though the quiver was still there when she spoke once more. "I've been so stupid."

"Tell me now, Christine, and don't lie, has he done something to you?"

"No, Erik!"

"He hasn't laid a hand on you, has he?"

"Nothing like that, Erik! Please, he didn't do anything- we just- we fought."

"You've been put in a state, Christine. What has happened to you?"

"He got so angry, Erik. And- and he talked about you, and I just had to- talk-"

"Calm yourself."

"Said I was- crazy for not getting a divorce," she stammered, breathing deeply. "He asked me to marry him instead, but I couldn't- Erik, I couldn't say yes!"

"You've done the right thing," Erik said, unable to help his selfish comment. It only induced another dry sob in Christine as she choked back tears, still trying to make her way through the conversation without bursting into tears once more.

"Raoul didn't think so! God, Erik, I've never seen- never seen him so angry! Said that maybe there was- something going on, and…" She trailed off, unable to say any more for fear of weeping.

"Does he know that you visit?" Erik asked quietly, wondering if the subject had come up in this argument.

"No," she replied weakly, sniffing loudly. "No, I didn't tell him. I couldn't tell him. I didn't know he would be so jealous."

"And under what pretence did you decide I was the most appropriate of people to call, Christine?"

"I… I don't know."

"I can offer you no sympathy. Your… _lover's_ jealousy is something that I cannot say I wholeheartedly loathe. I will offer no kind word."

"I couldn't think of who else to call."

"My my, Christine, so _uncharacteristically _selfish of you."

"I'm _not_ selfish," she muttered back, sniffing loudly once more as her composure was regained. As she continued, it was as if she were speaking to herself, musing on her situation rather than seeking advice. "I already told him I wouldn't- it was one of the first things I said when- when we… I said I wouldn't marry."

"So you've said."

"Does it make me bad, Erik? There wasn't any… false hope, or anything, and it's not like he thinks we're… doing anything."

Erik paused at this, his brow furrowed ever so slightly as he tried to get past the very fact that she had said such words.

"You are not a bad person."

"But I do such bad things."

"You have done nothing but maintain your oath to a sorry man."

"Yeah. Of course." She did not seem to want to dwell on that subject. "Just… I'm sorry. I just wanted to talk to someone."

"So happy to be of service, Christine."

She paused uncomfortably, that small sound of tapping appearing again as she lightly tapped her nails against the phone.

"I'll be coming again this next session. Two weeks, right?"

"It is."

"I'll… we can sing for a bit, right?"

"If that is what you wish, Christine."

"Yeah. Yeah, it'd be nice." Another pause. "I'll see you then."

Christine seemed quick to put down the phone after that, barely a second passing before that horrible dial tone droned in his ear. He waited as if perhaps there were something more to be heard or said before giving in and gently putting down the phone. Erik did not stay long enough to see whether the receptionist had witnessed the end of the conversation, instead being swift to stand and leave, making his way back to his music once more. He could not deny that a sense of excitement welled somewhere deep inside him at the mention of her singing- at her _desire_ to sing- though he repressed it for as long as he could. To be excited now might very well ruin the surprise later, he supposed.

And it certainly had been a long time since he had heard her sing.


	28. Chapter 28

**A/N- My sincerest apologies about this chapter. I don't speak fluent French. This doesn't make sense now, but it will. I know some French, but hardly enough to translate a song, so this is the work of my dictionary, and a lot of translating and retranslating in Google. Cheating, I know, but hey, we needed some French flair. If you speak fluent French, feel free to chastise me as much as you need ****:D Hope you've all had a wonderful Christmas!**

Lessons had become more regular throughout the winter. Christine was grateful, but curious as to why this was, but did not wish to intrude by asking why they now met once a day. She suspected he had his reasons. Perhaps to avoid dwelling. To avoid another bout of whatever it was that made him stow away in his room for days and weeks on end.

"Head higher. No, not so high, you are straining yourself. Sing without the chance of choking, Christine."

He rarely told her whether she was doing well or not anymore, Christine thought to herself. Instead he would intervene at points simply to instruct her position, her pronunciation. She had to admit that it was quite pleasant to no longer having to abide by his insults towards her singing, though she did miss those moments of flattery. The song ended, and with a slow breath Christine felt her shoulders fall forward once more. It had only been perhaps an hour, but the lesson had been far more trying than she had expected; Erik seemed to have been in a jovial mood that afternoon and had selected one of the faster pieces in his collection.

"Again," he said briskly, not even turning his head.

"Could I not… have a break?" Christine asked, trailing away slightly as she collected herself. "Just for five minutes? Please?"

For a moment it seemed that Erik was not willing to relent, but finally he nodded his head towards the arm chair. Christine smiled gratefully even though it was not seen and sat heavily on the armchair mentioned. She paused for a moment before standing again and turning it as best she could so that she could face the piano, then sitting with her feet tucked under her. Erik had begun to busy himself looking through the scattered librettos on top of the instrument's surface, almost causing Christine to laugh. The song, while tiring, had placed her in better spirits than she was used to and instead of taking his ignorance as a blessing, she found it somewhat entertaining that he went to these lengths to avoid looking at her.

"Do you really not want to talk to me that badly, Erik?" Christine asked, her smile evident in her voice.

"I thought you wanted to rest your voice. Does that not entail _silence_, Christine?"

"It means that I won't be singing for a few minutes," she corrected. "You never just talk, do you?"

"You had a subject in mind, I suppose?"

"Nope. I just thought you might want to talk about something. Considering I might not see you again after this until tomorrow's lesson."

Erik paused for a moment before turning about in his seat, watching Christine with a certain level of curiosity. She waited for a response before his cool demeanour broke slightly into one of mild amusement. A true amusement, one that she rarely saw, letting her sink into a sense of ease. It was strange to see Erik in such a mood as this. Any briskness that she had seen in him before melted away at such times, leaving what seemed to be _almost_ a normal man. Or at least, a man incapable of kidnapping.

"I'll admit one of my greatest flaws is my inability to hold a conversation," Erik said, smiling lightly.

Christine nodded, tilting her head slightly as she tried to think of something to say.

"You know a lot about music, right?"

"Correct."

"How?"

"How?" Erik repeated, smile widening slightly as he thought back. "What can I say, my dear? I was born with a talent."

"Liar!" she said, shaking her head humorously.

"Ah, you may laugh, but I was quite a talented child, you know? Once I had found a way to perform melodies on the cutlery I was frequently visited by the village's priest. He taught me a few simple tunes and I carried on from there."

"Wait, priest?"

"You seem confused."

"You didn't strike me as particularly… religious," Christine admitted, though still with good humour.

"I'm not. However, my mother was, and if she was going to trust anyone in our household it would be a holy man."

"I didn't like our local vicar," said Christine, musing aloud. "Not that he was bad or anything, probably a nice guy. Absolutely stank, though, I don't know if it was a vow or if he was just odd."

"Then it appears I was quite fortunate in said respect. A rather well meaning man, if perhaps not the greatest of tutors."

"What did he teach you?"

"It was less a matter of teaching me," Erik said, "than introducing a subject, attempting to teach, and leading me to learn it myself. Being a devout man he thought it would be useful to teach me Latin, though he was hardly fluent. He'd attempted that for quite a while before I begged him to teach me music."

"So that's how you learnt to play?"

"It took me days perhaps to learn to play. He introduced me to the violin, though. And taught me a great many songs I'd heard the choir boys sing."

"You're having far too much bragging," Christine laughed teasingly, though she sat forward a little. "Songs? You mean you sing as well?"

"You seem surprised."

"I've never heard you sing _properly_. You haven't even offered to do a duet or anything."

"For now, perhaps."

"Please, Erik, will we eventually?"

"Another time," he replied, turning his head away slightly. It did not do any good in hiding away the growing smile. They paused in silence for a short while, Christine thinking along the way.

"Will you sing for me, maybe?"

Erik seemed to freeze for a moment, contemplating the request. Eventually, though, he conceded, and turned once more to the piano. Christine could not help but grin a little childishly, sitting forward in her seat with her elbows rested on her knees, her head in her hands. Erik paused as he thought of a song, before finally his gloved fingers lay across the keys and began. At first it sounded painful, a broken melody, and Christine felt her brow furrow of its own accord in confusion. That was, until he sang.

_Vous êtes un têtard peu dur d'aimer  
__Petits mensonges et des leurres  
__J'ai été frappé au sol  
__Jamais goûté un poison doux comme vous  
__Je compte sur vous et sera toujours_

_You're a bad little love and I'm yours…_

Without having realised it, Christine had stood, swaying slightly under the spell of his voice. The only feeling that had come quite close this had been all that time ago when he had played her a song, scaring her to tears. She was not scared now. It was no surprise to her, though, that his voice had gained such an effect. Even when he spoke Christine could sense a strangeness in his voice that could only intensify in song. She did not understand the words, but was captured by them nevertheless.

_Donc croyez-moi, croyez-moi  
__Chouchou chère  
__Je suis sincère  
__Enfant, ne pleure pas_

It was not until she reached his side that Christine noticed the smile still remained on his lips. He knew that she was there, but did not bother to stop singing. In her brief moment of clarity, Christine thought that perhaps it had been his intention to lure her through song, and found she did not mind at all. To be taken in by such rapture was barely to be taken offensively.

_Croyez-moi, croyez-moi  
__Chouchou chère_

_Just like I trust you_

Silence rang through the air as the music slowly died away. Christine's eyes closed blissfully for a short while, taking in the last echoes of the tune. Finally she heard the slight rustling sound of Erik turning in his seat, facing her directly.

"Thank you," Christine whispered before she even opened her eyes. She paused once more, gathering the energy to raise her voice. She turned and opened her eyes, smiling. "Thank you, really. That was…"

"You're crying." He raised a hand to wipe away a stray tear, and where she once would have flinched Christine only laughed.

"I'm sorry, it's silly of me. It wasn't even sad. I mean, I didn't… feel sad, if you know what I mean."

He did not reply, but his hand dropped once more to his lap, the tears gone from her eyes.

"You speak French wonderfully," Christine said in an attempted distraction quickly, looking downwards.

"I should hope so, I lived there for quite some time."

"Really?"

"Yes. And America. Russia. India. Iran."

"You make it very difficult for me not to find you intriguing, Erik."

"Then perhaps my journeys were not in vain," he said with a wry smile. "You do not wish to find me intriguing?"

"No, I don't. It makes it harder to remember why I'm here."

"You are here to sing, Christine, and be loved. And if you happen to enjoy the company you keep once in a while, I certainly shan't hold it against you."

Christine nodded slowly, finally looking up again. She raised her hands slightly, offering them to him. He no longer hesitated when she did so, taking hold of them quickly yet gently and kissing them briefly.

"Do you miss it terribly?" he asked quietly. The question did not incite the remorse that Christine thought she would feel, instead just a mild melancholy.

"Sometimes," she admitted, her fingers tightening around his despite herself. "I miss my friends. Mama Valerius. Just normal things. I was going to be in University."

"You will return one day. When I am happy with your lessons, and I know that you would not be too quick to leave your poor Erik behind."

In response, she tightened her fingers once more around his, smiling.

"Will you sing to me again?" Christine asked.

"Not today. Another time, my dear. You've had quite enough, I think."

"How did you do that anyway?" she asked, suddenly remembering at his words the effect his singing had had. "The whole hypnotism thing? I guess that's what it was, anyway."

"Purely accidental," he replied, though there was a sort of arrogance in his smirk. "For as long as I can remember I have been able to do such things. Once my services were required simply to send royal children to sleep."

"Now you're _definitely _just showing off."

"So few things go well in this world that one must look upon the good," Erik said after a sigh, raising her hands to his lips once more before releasing Christine's hands. He turned again towards the piano. "Now, I think you've rested quite long enough. You're improving, you know? I should think you would soon be quite ready to move onto higher forms of music."

"Higher forms?" Christine could not help but be confused as she moved back into position. "How much better can music get, Erik?"

"You have been introduced to charming music, Christine, and perhaps at time passionate music. I have yet to introduce you to my work. On opera that waits for you to bring it to life."

"Can I listen to it now?"

"Not now, Christine."

"Then I'm going to just have to assume you're being cocky again!"

Shaking his head, Erik did not respond to her good natured mocking. Once he had corrected her posture, and counted her in, she continued to sing. At last, she sang it with the good humour that had been intended for the melody.


	29. Chapter 29

**A/N- So um… I don't suppose this three month break will be forgiven all too easily considering how short and silly this chapter is? I will endeavour to be updating sooner, I promise, the only excuse I can offer really is I've been highly distracted lately with either brilliant wonderful aspects of life or horrifically annoying/ awful aspects. No one's died or anything, I just feel heavily like murdering half the time XD DEAR GOD, HAS ERIK FINALLY GOTTEN TO ME?!**

She had requested that their meeting take place in a private room. Although it seemed a strange request, the staff did not question Christine's motives and prepared the room, bringing in the keyboard that they knew Erik was still warily fond of. Christine sat at the small table, biting her thumbnail and shivering slightly. More often than not she preferred to put in somewhat of an effort into her clothing for her husband, but today had been unable to summon more than a pair of leggings and an oversized jumper of Raoul's, her hair lazily pulled up into a ponytail. Though a small part of her had chided the decision, she had become somewhat distracted and ignored those thoughts.

Once they were left alone, there was a small moment of silence in which neither person spoke, simply watching each other as if waiting for the other to speak, as if it were years ago and they were still all too new to the arrangements before them. At last, Christine cleared her throat, releasing her thumb and wrapping her arms around herself, offering an awkward smile.

"I… are you still prepared to play?" she asked, nodding towards the keyboard. Erik looked at it for a moment before nodding, though he did not turn to move.

"You don't seem to be in the best position to sing, my dear."

"What?"

"You're shivering, Christine. Has something happened?"

"It doesn't matter," Christine replied with a shrug, standing from her chair and widening her already somewhat false smile. "Please? I want to sing. I haven't sung anything classy in a while."

"So you have been singing then?"

"Well, yeah, it's all I know how to do. Nothing much. Last production I did was _The King and I_ but it's hardly worth it when I could have been singing your music, is it?"

It was a shameless attempt at flattery, and Erik knew it. However, she was not often in such a mood to please and he nevertheless pushed past his worry for her and rose as well, moving towards the seat by the keyboard. He spared her one last look before sitting down and laying his fingers against the keys.

Christine stepped forward, her smile relaxing slightly now into something more natural. They progressed with scales, the shiver in Christine's voice disappearing eventually until once more they were lost in the pitch perfect tone. At last, Erik stopped, looking up towards his wife and smiling gently. _It certainly had been a while. _She rarely sang for him alone when visiting, their place being almost entertainers to those that wanted it. He could not deny that he was almost childishly excited to hear her sing only for him.

"I suppose you had a song in mind?" Erik asked lightly.

"I… I don't know. I think so."

"I can only assume that means you have already thought, Christine. What is it you want to sing?"

"Something that you composed."

"I have composed a fair few things, my dear."

"Will you then… can we play _Don Juan_?"

Erik paused, his muscles tightening slightly at the mention of the opera. _His opera_. Of course, they had played it all too many times before, almost to dangerous effects, and it was for this reason that Erik peered with concern out of the corner of his eyes at the attendants who sat behind the window, waiting for the slightest sign of danger. They were certainly unprepared for his music.

"Do you think it wise, Christine?"

"Nothing angry, Erik, I don't want to think of anger. And nothing… racy."

"What did you have in mind?"

"I thought… perhaps… Aminta's song? That she sang alone for Don Juan."

Slowly, Erik nodded. It was only a short piece, and yet he knew that Christine had always had quite a fondness for it. He hardly knew why, considering its theme, but nevertheless he beckoned her closer still, hoping to savour the notes as closely as he could. With a small sigh, he pressed his fingers to the keys and began to play the opening bars, his eyes closing ever so slightly as he heard Christine inhale deeply.

_Your eyes see but my shadow_

_My heart is overflowing_

Memories flooded back to Erik as he heard the words ringing through the air, the room hardly doing justice to the beauty of both the music and Christine's voice combined, but never quite hindering it enough to incite annoyance.

_There's so much you could learn to love_

Oh how those words ached. Reminding him of the ever present ignorance he was faced with, had anyone given the effort to look.

_But you're content not knowing_

_Tenderly, you could see my soul…_

The music played on, though there were no more lyrics to be uttered. Erik had always envisioned the scene quite clearly in his mind, much like the rest of his opera. Aminta, standing before the audience, alone on the stage singing to her audience, as if praying her love would realise his mistakes and come for her there and then. It was less a scene than a hopeful daydream, really. A little fantasy that had played on Erik's mind since he had become a young man. He found himself so lost in his private thoughts that he had not noticed Christine had stepped back from the keyboard, seemingly lost in her own thoughts.

"I won't be back for a while," Christine murmured, standing awkwardly with her arms wrapped around her torso almost protectively. She could not look at Erik, neither wishing nor daring to see his reaction. There was a stony silence for a short while before his croaking voice broke it.

"How long?"

"I don't know."

"Two months? Three months?"

"Six. Maybe seven. I don't _know_, Erik."

"Seven months?" Erik choked, standing before taking a step back or two in his surprise. _Seven months? No. No, it wouldn't do_. Christine looked up through the sheet of hair covering her eyes, seeing the quite clear pain flashing in his eyes despite his attempt at ferocity. "Why?"

"I… I don't want to-"

"Damn it, Christine, you _will_ tell me!"

"Don't shout," Christine whispered, her knuckles visibly tightening as her grip around herself strengthened.

"I deserve an explanation! Why so long? Why so sudden?"

"Not quite so sudden, Erik. I just need… I need a break, okay?"

"After all these years? Christine, you may not brush me off so easily."

She paused, looking up fully towards Erik, her hair falling away from her face and revealing watery eyes. Christine smiled weakly.

"After all these years. It has been… a long time, Erik. And I am tired. Things happen as we grow older and… and you must accept it."

"There is little reason for me to accept it," Erik stated firmly, seeming to shiver slightly as the mixed fury and anguish ran through him. "I won't allow it."

"You don't have a choice in the matter."

"I _always_ have a choice," he said, ignoring the petulance that he could sense in his tone. At this, Christine's eyes widened slightly in fury, her jaw set.

"This has all been _my_ choice, Erik," she said, voice quivering in fury. "_I _choose to come here, even if I am at risk of losing far too much. _You_ have _no_ say."

For a while after the words had finished echoing in the air, Erik stood silent and still with little idea of how to retort. He watched her warily, wondering for a brief moment whether or not Christine truly meant those words. Perhaps she did. They were, after all, true, despite whatever he had been telling himself. At least, the words were true in their purest sense. Yet Erik was quite assured that his influence upon the poor girl would always effect her decisions.

"You are wrong, Christine." _And she knows it_.

Upon these words, Christine looked away once more, her teary eyes overflowing and staining her cheeks quickly enough. She attempted to wipe them away, but was far too slow to evade the evidence of her weeping.

"That's not fair," she whimpered, putting a hand over her mouth to stifle a sob. The sight was far too pitiful for Erik to continue plaguing her with such comments as he often found himself doing when infuriated in such a manner.

"I would be loathed to do it," Erik began, "and so I will not beg. But… but I must ask that you reconsider. I would happily wait two months. I have waited three or four before without complaint. But seven? Christine, you ask too much of me by that."

"Erik, don't do this. Things are as they are and there's nothing I can do about it."

"And what state are things in, eh? You still avoid my questions, Christine, and though I've done you wrong you have no reason not to give me my explanation."

"You'd hate me."

"I could never-"

"Erik, you will find out in time but for now, you'd hate me, I know it."

"_Tell me_."

"No!" Christine said shrilly, her arms wrapped tightly around her torso.

The silence in the air thickened as realisation set in, and Erik's determined features withered once more to those of a confused child. Christine straightened slightly, watching Erik warily, unsure of his realisation in that moment and curious as to the sudden change in his disposition. Was he still angry? Had he entered some sort of shock, unable to cope with the idea of being left for so long?

No. She was not to be so fortunate.

"How… how long…"

"How long what, Erik?" Christine asked as his words disappeared.

"How long… have you… you been…"

Christine's eyes widened, her hand placed protectively against her abdomen. She opened her mouth to speak, to object, but could not muster any words and was reduced to lowering her head as if in shame.

"Four months."

"Four months?" Erik repeated, his voice choked, taking a step backwards as if stumbling with the news. Christine nodded weakly, looking up through her hair again.

"They t-told me not to say anything to _anyone_ for three months, y'know, just in case. Even Raoul didn't find out until the second-"

"_His_ child," he muttered, his eyes seemingly unable to focus on her entirely.

"Yes. Erik… Erik, like I said, it's been _years_ since…" She trailed off, unsure of how to complete that sentence. Christine paused for a moment, wondering whether there was much else too be said, until deciding that Erik seemed in no position to continue talking. "I'll leave."

"No!" Erik said in quite a panic, reaching out a hand. "No, you mustn't, I- Christine, _a child_?"

"I shouldn't have come here," she whispered, reaching for the door.

"You will not leave!" The words came out harsh, though still panicked, and Christine felt no fear but instead the strangest surge of pity as Erik's hands landed upon her shoulders, fiercely turning her around. He looked quite deranged, his eyes burning, his demeanour lost in some sort of passion that Christine had often seen in his moments of anger. She knew, though, that he would not hurt her- he only wanted answers to questions he had yet to think of. The guards, however, moved into the room nevertheless.

Erik was pried away from Christine forcefully, and she could only watch as they dragged him a few feet back, leaving room enough between them for Christine to leave safely. She stood frozen for a moment, her eyes watering even more than before as she watched Erik struggle, uttering senseless curses and questions. There was nothing to be done in that moment.

Nodding towards the two guards, who looked as if they were close to losing the battle, Christine left the room hastily, hearing the insensible cries from down the hallway.


	30. Chapter 30

**This chapter shall be filler-ish, and bad, for it was written in a time when I was finishing off University deadlines. And for this I am sorry. I just kinda want to get it out of the way as I have a bit of a pattern going and I just kind of want to get the whole Richard friendship underway. Poor lad doesn't get to do much nowadays! Apologies both for the terrible filling and for the shameless Disney advertisements ^_^**

She had taken up the strangest habit of falling asleep in various places through the house, and Erik was unsure whether or not this was a sign of her resistance to her new home or a sign of extreme boredom. He had found himself being forced to carry Christine back to her room like a child every so often if she was found curled up against the kitchen counter or by a window on a particularly cold night. Sometimes, however, she would have settled in a large chair or, strangely, lying on the hearth by the fireplace, as if she were a pet rather than a person.

The winter had come in full swing by the end of January, bringing with it a reluctant gardener who was unable to tend to the now frozen grounds. Richard had been quite distracted by his duties throughout Christine's _phase_, as the other residents now called it, and so was admittedly rather surprised to walk in and find the young woman in the music room, sat on the floor with her head rested on the sofa behind her and a book laid open by her knees. He looked through the door for a few moments, wondering why there was no sign of Erik about. Whenever he usually returned to the house, they were either together or at the very least separate but conscious. The boy entered the room cautiously, knowing that there was no penalty for doing so but unsure what the consequences would be for speaking to Christine when she was alone, especially when she was asleep.

Gently, thinking it best that the girl was at least moved to a more comfortable place even if it meant disturbing her, Richard reached out and touched her shoulder, shaking her ever so slightly. His efforts were rewarded with a half-hearted groan as Christine was pulled away from her rest. She did not open her eyes, only tucking her head in closer to the pillows of the sofa.

"I don't wanna sing," she murmured, her voice thick with obvious fatigue. Richard backed away, unsure of how to respond. "Play? Please?"

As if suddenly understanding, Richard couldn't help but smile. Obviously Christine had assumed that it was Erik that had woken her, as he had heard that often the master of the house played for his guest instead of forcing her into those repetitive lessons. It was not in his nature to disappoint, though, despite the confusion, and so Richard stood again and made his way to the piano, turning his head only briefly to see that Christine's eyes still remained closed.

The two had spoken rarely, and so Richard was quite unsure of what to play, though considered after a moment that perhaps the girl was tired of the classics that Erik so dearly loved to play. Instead, he thought back to childhood tunes and began to play, all the while a small worry niggling at the back of his mind, wondering how Erik might react to his precious instrument being used. No one came to the door immediately, though, and so he continued until finally the soft footsteps of a now conscious Christine came towards him. Richard looked up at her slightly, offering a small smile.

"_Oliver and Company_, right?" Christine asked, an unusually bright smile on her face. "I haven't heard this in absolutely _ages_, it was called… oh, what was it?"

"_Good Company_," Richard replied, his own smile widening to see her joy. "Sometimes it's just nice to play something a little different."

"It's kind of wonderful to hear something a little different. I didn't know you could play!"

"You learn certain things living around here for so long."

"Not just a gardener, then?"

Richard shrugged, the last few chords ringing underneath his fingertips before the song at last ended. He dithered slightly, unsure of what else to do, before Christine nudged him slightly to move along the bench until she sat down happily beside him.

"Teach me."

"What?"

"Please? Teach me to play a little? It doesn't have to be anything complicated, it's just something…"

"Different?"

"Yeah," Christine sighed. The monotony seemed to have gotten the better of her.

"I think perhaps it's something Erik would be better at teaching you."

"I don't want Erik to teach me. I want you to teach me."

"He might not like it."

"If that's your only problem then I promise, promise, promise that you won't get in trouble."

He bit his lip, then finally nodded, turning his head back to the keys.

"Do you know anything already?"

"Um… they taught us _When The Saints_ once when I was about twelve. But it's only about five notes."

"Well, play those then."

She nodded, then Christine launched into the same repetitive tune that she had been all too proud of learning years ago. It didn't really matter that everyone else was far ahead in their abilities, or that she was doing a very successful job at failing the dull lessons, she had simply been rather glad to have learnt something. She continued for a few bars before Richard took her left hand and manoeuvred her fingers until they rested on a certain chord, which she then played at his command every fourth beat.

"This isn't really playing," Christine said, smirking.

"I'm not really a teacher."

"I can tell."

"Stop being a pest," Richard laughed, leaving her to play until she grew bored.

"How long do I have to keep doing this?"

"You don't _have _to keep playing at all."

Christine smiled and continued, looking up at Richard every once in a while in case he decided at all to speak. She was used to hearing at the very least a word or two when with Erik, but the new silence was somewhat comforting. The sound of the music carried itself through the hallways, though, and it appeared that they were not to be left unfound for too long. A few minutes later, footsteps sounded at the doorway, and Christine faltered in her playing.

"I hadn't realised there was the need for a musical session without me," Erik said wryly. Christine turned her head, upon which Erik seemed to smile, though it appeared unsuccessful. "My dear, had you wanted to play I would have been all too happy to help."

"I didn't know I wanted to play," Christine said, turning back towards the piano.

"Well, I shall be glad to step in now, if you wish."

"No, thank you."

He paused, standing in the doorway, quite obviously unsure of what to say in such a situation. He was not so easily ignored, and after this pause he strode forward briskly towards the piano, ordering that Richard leave with a clipped tone that left no questions as to his mood. Richard looked out of the corner of his eye at Christine, as if waiting for a second command, but she did not move. With a small nod he left, ensuring he made as little sound as possible as he did so. Erik stood by the piano still, waiting for Christine to give in first. She still refused to move, however, and remained still, staring down at the keys before her.

"I should quite like to be the one to teach you music, Christine," Erik began quietly. "In any way I can."

"I know. But like I said, I didn't know I wanted to play."

"You didn't need to bother Richard over it."

Christine shrugged.

"I would really far prefer it if I taught you. The boy could only take you so far."

"Am I not allowed to talk to him?" Christine asked, curious rather than bitter.

"Of course you may."

"Then… I'd rather he could just teach me this stuff. It's just easier."

Erik yet again did not reply. Christine finally looked up at him, seeing that he no longer feigned a smile, nor any other emotion at that point in time. Their eyes locked for a short period of time before Erik gave a small, curt nod, turning sharply on his heel and leaving the room. Christine watched him leave, not sure whether it would be appropriate to follow him or speak out. She did neither, though, and moved back towards the sofa at the other end of the room, tucking her feet underneath her and closing her eyes to sleep.


End file.
